Broken Vengeance
by Arcturus Peverell
Summary: A broken, lonely boy down in a cave-brought back to the world to become the savior and destroy the darkness. But does the savior want the same? After all, the prophecy never said that 'the one to vanquish the dark lord' would be Light... Think you figured it out? Think again. Dark! Harry, Powerful! Harry, Good! Dumbledore. AU.
1. Chapter 1: Lost and Found

The rocky terrain covered the area for miles, with the occasional group of palm trees here and there in fragments. The left side of the terrain faded into the sandy beach overlooking the ocean. On the vast terrain, stood a couple of caves, with smoke coming out of one- thick, grayish smoke slowly dissipating out of it.

A sudden crack resounded, the noise reverberating in the coastal breeze, and two people appeared out of nowhere. An old man with a white beard, dressed in robes of aquiline blue, accompanied with a stern looking witch in jet-black robes and a long pointy hat—stood on the surface. The man held a long queer looking stick-a wand, one very different from the usual wands these people had. Holding it in front, he uttered a string of obscure words and the front-end of the wand glowed blue as a sudden jet of light shot out of it and fell on the walls of the cave in front.

"I think this is it, Professor Mcgonagall."

The old witch looked oddly at the man, her eyes filled with curiosity, disbelief and to a certain extent—anger. "Are you sure this is the right place? Why in the world would he be here?"

"I have no idea. We have searched everything and everywhere we could. This ritual was simply the last card on the stack. I have every hope that we have succeeded this time."

Mcgonagall scoffed. "I had warned you multiple times not to place him with those despicable muggle relatives, but you did not listen. Look where it got us. Five years Albus- the boy has been living out on his own for five years. I do not even want to imagine what he has been through."

"I know, and no one despises me more than myself for that. Let's go in."

The woman nodded and the pair walked into the cave, shooting in two balls of light out of their wands, illuminating the path inside the depths of the dark cave. They crossed a couple of bends, passed a couple of adders and rattlesnakes lying on the sandy floor underneath, in the direction of the smoke emanating out from within.

"How can a boy live here? Are you sure this is the correct place?"

"I am hopeful, yes."

Mcgonagall frowned, and whipped her wand out. "Homenum revelio." A red sheen filled the area in front of her, casting a thermal projection of a small boy in front of them. "I found him, but I can't see him. Do you think he is-?"

"Who are you?" A disembodied voice resounded all around him, the dead rocky bends all around resonating the voice to eerie levels. Mcgonagall twitched her wand, but Dumbledore touched her shoulder. "Please come forward. We are here to talk."

"Who are you?" The eerie voice repeated.

"My name is Albus Dumbledore. I am the-"

"Headmaster of Hogwarts. I know about you."

"Interesting." Dumbledore's moustache quivered. "Please come forward. We do not mean to hurt you."

"How can I trust you?"

Dumbledore took out his wand. "You know of me, correct? Here this is my wand-you do know what it is right? It is how I do magic..." He raised it in front of him. "I am going to put it on the floor for you. Please come forward. I am not going to hurt you. I swear."

The air in front of them fluttered like a cloak as a figure materialized in front of them. The two elders looked in astonishment as the perfectly cast disillusionment faded and a young scrawny looking boy materialized in front of their eyes. He did not really look like what the couple expected. The young face was marred with two long scars, one running down his left cheek, and the other-a lightning bolt scar on his forehead. His hairs—for some reason, they were different from what they had thought. Instead of the rough, untamable mass of hair, protruding out—there was a tousled wind-blown hair falling in two locks on either side of the head. His eyes were still the brightly lit emerald green, almost pulsing with a leashed power.

"How do you know who I am?"

Albus Dumbledore smiled. "I have seen you many times, my boy. Long back when you were a toddler. Your name is Harry. Harry Potter."

"Harry... Potter", the boy murmured, his hands automatically rising to his temples as pain shot across his scar, his magical aura flaring dangerously as he did. An old memory...he did not know whose it was, or what it meant, but for some reason, it felt strangely familiar to him. The old man did nothing but wait and watch as a poisonous green aura hung around the boy, as if ready to strike them down at a single command...

"Harry..." the woman cried out, her hands raising towards him. The boy's eyes snapped open, the green eyes suddenly turning jet black for a moment, hurling the woman away by five feet. A quick reflex and a cushioning charm prevented her backbone from being crushed.

"Don't come near me." The boy hissed, "I don't want to hurt you. I told them too... I told them not to hurt me." His voice sounded nearly hysterical.

The old man walked slowly towards him. "There is no need to fear, my boy. You are among friends."

"Friends... I do not have _friends_." The boy countered vehemently.

"Now you do. You see, we are just like you." Dumbledore tried to convince him.

"Prove it. Prove it." He hissed. The ringing voice, the commanding tone- it was eerily reminiscent of someone... someone who had been just like this boy, fifty years ago. Someone who had grown up to become a destroyer.

Dumbledore flicked his fist, as the fallen wand rose back to his hand. With another flick, a huge wall of flames manifested near them.

"Do you believe me, now?"

The boy-Harry, did not answer.

"We have come to take you back. Back into our world—your world."

"My... World?"

"Yes. You are a wizard, Harry. A wizard. Just like I am. A world of witches and wizards, a world of magic. I have come to take you back."

The boy's eyes narrowed and Dumbledore felt he saw a tinge of red somewhere in them. "If you knew me...from before", he yelled, "Why did you leave me there?"

"It was..." he hesitated, "it was because they were your relatives, Harry. We thought they would love you."

The boy laughed. A bitter, emotionless laughter. "Loved? They beat me...they hurt me... They... they..." his eyes burned with power, "I am not going back to them."

Dumbledore looked at him and replied softly. "They are dead, Harry. There is nowhere to go back. Will you come with us?"

Dead...A memory rose in his mind... Hurt, tears, anger...a light...shouting...yelling...

A loud explosion.

"Yes, I will go with you."

* * *

The whitewashed room that was used as the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts was the most orderly room in the castle. Despite the fact that the school housed over three hundred teenagers all year, the Hospital wing looked just as immaculate as wizardly possible. The matron and mediwitch—Poppy Pomfrey was busy shifting from one closet to another, making sure her potions and draughts were ready for the arriving guest. The air around the room fluttered, if a bit violently as a loud crack pervaded the air, as three figures materialized out of nowhere. The Headmaster and his deputy were there as expected, and the tiny boy among them was the one she was anticipating.

"You must be Harry?"

The boy stared.

"I am Madam Pomfrey. This is the Hospital wing."

The boy still stared.

"You must be hungry or tired...?" she anticipated the boy to say something, but he did not. Dumbledore cleared his voice. "I am sure young Harry is tired and wants some rest. Professor Mcgonagall-" he turned to the other woman, "—please open some of the guest rooms near my office. I will usher young Harry there myself."

Madam Pomfrey looked at the boy again. He just kept on staring.

 _Why are you staring?_

" _I am trying to understand."_ Came the reply. The problem was, the boy's lips did not move.

 _You are speaking to me in my mind._

" _Yes."_

" _Who are you?"_

" _That man calls me Harry Potter."_

 _"Why did you come with him?"_

Harry's eyes narrowed for a moment, and Poppy suddenly felt an intrusion in her mind. It was the image of a little, fat boy and his group of friends, and they were all kicking Harry, who lay on the floor—beaten and bruised.

 _He has been abused._

One of the boys took out a small story book and waved it in front of them..."Franke—Frankenstein's – the monster- that's what you are!" the fat boy yelled.

 _No!_

The memory suddenly faded off, returning her sight to face the brightly lit emerald eyes. He took out a small book from within his trousers. It had a purple cover over it.

" _They told me I am Frankenstein's monster. I came here looking for my creator."_

* * *

 **###AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey guys, I was working on the next chapter of Resurgence when this new idea came to me, and I couldn't help but give it a try. This is not going to be a new story-well, it can be, but depending upon the reviews, really. I wish to know what you think of this first chapter, and depending upon them, I will continue this story, though Resurgence remains of the greater priority.**

 **So reviews please.**


	2. Chapter 2 : Monsters

**" _Damn! Freak! Petunia, get me the belt. Let me see how long he can stand and stare with those freaky eyes of his. I swear I will curb those eyes out and burn them personally someday. Stop looking at me like that Freak!"_**

 ** _Slash._**

 ** _A sharp tinge of pain. Laughter. Another swipe of the leather belt, and blood trickled down his face, scarring his cheek with an extended gnash._**

 **" _Stop staring! I said, STOP STARING!"_**

 ** _He looked up at the fat man trying to injure him, threatening and abusing him, but somehow... the tinge of fear deep within the man's mind felt so attractive..._**

 ** _He stared back at him. Those bright green orbs, burning like flames, pulsing with energy...they had just hurt him so much... so much that now he did not even feel the pain. It was just pain after all. Nothing new._**

 ** _Another smack of the fist on his face. He rolled down and thrashed upon the table, the sharp edges cutting across his skin, bruising it. Red drops began to form all around the bruise as a familiar sensation stepped into him._**

 ** _He got up. Not a word escaped his lips. He turned around, and stood back, facing his tormentor, who frowned at him. The frowns on the man's face originated from fear-fear from confusion, fear from not getting the desired shrieks of pain out of him; fear from not being in control._**

 **" _I TOLD YOU TO STOP STARING AT ME, you monster! All these years, I have tried to curb your freakishness out of you, but YOU... it ends now... I will either control your freakishness or you will die...," the fat man roared._**

 ** _Another slash from the belt, and a smearing pain shot across his abdomen, but he did not flinch. Pain was an old friend, always there with him. It was familiar. He even...trusted it._**

 ** _Vernon lost his mind. The creepy eyes stared back at him, somehow amplifying his anger. Losing his sanity completely, he took up the bread knife and roared. "It's ends now, BOY!"_**

 ** _Snikt!_**

 ** _In a gust of dry wind, the knife shot out of his hand and floated upwards. It then bent towards him, pointing at his eye, while in the air. Vernon tried to catch it but failed dismally, and began to slowly move back, his knuckles and face white with fear. He looked at the creepy boy in front of him, still staring back with those creepy black eyes of his._**

 ** _Wait! Black eyes?_**

 ** _The creepy eyes, which had that poisonous green color, always burning brightly had been replaced by jet black eyes-as if sucking all the light into the infinite darkness inside them._**

 ** _The knife shot towards him suddenly, striking on his left palm with humongous force, tearing through it as it shot out from the other end. Vernon screamed in pain. Petunia was already unconscious by this point._**

 **" _Aaaaargh! What have you done? You freak! I will kill you!" he roared, his body convulsing in pain as fresh red blood seeped out of the giant hole through the centre of his palm._**

 ** _Then the boy spoke._**

 **" _Tell me uncle Vernon, do you feel in control?"_**

* * *

"Harry?"

The little boy shook himself off from his reveries- old memories had begun to come back to him ever since he had come to know of his name. His mind was a jumbled mess of information, memories and... Pain. However, hearing his own name seemed to do something to him...

 _Harry...Potter..._

An old memory... a different voice of a different person, yet so familiar, and a phrase about which he could not make any sense about...

 _ **Diary—Locket-Diadem—Ring-Cup—Harry Potter!**_

 _ **Diary—Locket-Diadem—Ring-Cup—Harry Potter!**_

 _ **Diary—Locket-Diadem—Ring-Cup—Harry Potter!**_

 _ **Diary—Locket-Diad-**_

"Harry?"

He looked up at the old man with the long silvery beard in front of him. Albus Dumbledore-Headmaster of Hogwarts-Supreme Warlock of-Supreme Warlock of-

"What is Supreme Warlock?"

Dumbledore looked at him oddly. "Supreme Warlock is a position at the Wizengamot. I have held the post since 1947, but why do you ask, Harry?"

No answer.

"Do you want some food? Are you hungry?"

A nod.

"Very well. TIPPY!" he yelled, making a Hogwarts lf pop in immediately. The sudden loud noise and the creature that had popped up out of nowhere caused Harry to jump hysterically, his hands in front of his face and his aura glowing brightly. The new creature looked at him oddly.

"Headmaster calls for Tippy?" The elf asked, looking confused at the new wizard's antics.

"Yes. Please bring us some food here." Dumbledore had brought them into one of the guest rooms of the castle, and knowing that the new session was about to start two months later, it was imperative that the young boy had to be educated and brought to form before the term began.

"What...what was that thing?"

"Tippy is a house elf. A magical creature, just as we are magical. You, me and everyone else over here."

"They work here?"

"Yes, they work at Hogwarts."

"For you?" he asked suddenly, looking up at the Headmaster, who nodded briskly.

"Do you..." he hesitated, "hurt them?" An unknown fear crept up in the boy's eyes as he waited in anticipation for the answer.

"No!" Dumbledore replied quickly, as he explained. "I don't hurt them. Nobody hurts them here."

"Oh."

A small pop occurred and food has magically appeared on the tiny table before them. "Come now, "the old man asked, "Let's eat, and then we can talk."

Harry nodded slowly before taking up a small piece of bacon and biting into it. "This is...nice." He kept biting larger and larger portions of it hungrily, as if in fear that it would vanish before his eyes.

"You can eat patiently, Harry. The food is not going to disappear. You can eat as much as you want." He promised.

"More than this?" he asked, not wanting to believe his ears.

"As much as you want." Dumbledore promised him. Harry stopped munching hungrily and began nibbling over the bacon softly with patience. After all, he could eat as much as he wanted.

"Tell me Harry", Dumbledore began amiably, "what was that purple book you had with you?"

Bright green eyes darted a glance at the old man, almost observing his reaction and his intention. Dumbledore felt something touch his mental defenses for a moment before the presence vanished. The boy took out the book out of his trousers and showed it to him. The Headmaster held it gingerly and took it from him.

It was a small book with a purple cover, with a tag line of 'Dudley Dursley' written on top. The handwriting was in scrambles. He opened the first page to see the picture of one man being levitated on the side of a tower using wires while a fork of lightning descended down on his body.

"Frankenstein." He muttered. This was a muggle storybook.

"Nice story, Harry? Did you like reading it?"

No reply.

"For all my age and my knowledge, I confess I have never read this book before. May I take it and read it?" he asked, putting the book on the table near the boy. "I promise I will return it back by tomorrow."

The green eyes surveyed his facial expressions, and after getting satisfied, the boy nodded. Slowly.

"Thank you. Do you like reading? I have some storybooks of my own. So you want to read them?"

The boy nodded. Good.

A flick of that strange-looking wand in his hand-the beads along the midrib attracting him strangely-and in a moment, one old-looking book zoomed in through the window. Dumbledore caught it in one hand and handed it over.

"Take this." He said, "This is a story book. Good stories. You will like it."

Harry held the book with something akin to reverence in his hands-an old familiar feeling arising from within him-a feeling he did not know existed.

" _ **How did you do it, you freak? You are trying to shame my son. You bastard! I will burn your books."**_

" _ **NO! No! No!"**_

 _ **A glowing matchstick. The sudden flames. The smell of burning paper...**_

" _ **Now go and return to the cupboard!"**_

 _ **No movement.**_

 _ **Slash! Pain shot up from his backbone, as he fell on the floor.**_

"Harry?"

His mind snapped back to the present. He looked at the book. It was ornately decorated in the cover page with big stylish letters. "The tales of Beadle the Bard" he muttered slowly.

"Correct. You can keep this book with you." Dumbledore exclaimed with an unnatural happiness in his voice. The boy's eyes shifted again to the wand in his hand again- the stare bringing up an odd feeling inside his old heart for a moment.

 _I wonder..._

" _What do you wonder?"_

Dumbledore whirled back towards the boy instantly. Had he hallucinated, or did Harry Potter just sent him a Legilimency message?

" _What is legit—legimecy?"_

" _Legilimency."_ Dumbledore thought clearly in his head. _"We are talking through our mind. That is Legilimency."_

" _I am...doing legilimecy?"_

" _Le-gi-li-men-cy!"_ Dumbledore cleared. _"And yes, you are. Very interesting, Harry. Very interesting."_

For the first time, Harry grinned.

"This is a school, Harry. Young boys and girls, just like you... they come here to learn. Would you like to learn?" Dumbledore spoke aloud.

Harry mused. Good question. Did he want to learn?

A nod.

"Very well, I-"

"They burnt my books." Harry interrupted suddenly.

"Excuse me?" Dumbledore returned, his eyes narrowing.

"They burnt my books." His expression turned slightly hysterical, "they hurt me, they beat me, they burnt my books-I CANNOT read!" His aura raged as the table vibrated madly in front of them.

"Calm down! Calm down, Harry!" Dumbledore tried to pacify him, taking out a lemon-drop out of his robe. "Have this. You will feel better."

Reluctantly, he extended his palm and gratefully took the sweet, slowly tasting it. Dumbledore smiled as he saw the boy's hysteria fade- the calming draught imbibed in those lemon drops were good at what they did. "I promise you, no one will burn your books. There is a BIG library over here, and you can read as much as you want. I am the Headmaster, and I will give you permission. I promise."

Another nod.

Good.

* * *

Dumbledore had left him on his own in the guest room, with the book and an ever-filling plate of bacon-sandwiches and an ever-filling jug of pumpkin juice. He had also informed Tippy to make sure that his needs were met, as he retired back to his office.

 _I wonder what happened at the Dursleys that made his mind into such a veritable mess... How does he know my name and yet nothing else? He knew about my position but did not know about the Wizengamot-incomplete information. I need to show him to a private mind healer, but at first, he needs to get comfortable._

The office door knocked.

"Come in, Poppy, Minerva."

The school matron and the deputy headmistress entered into the circular office. Beside the large table, there was a golden perch, on which a golden-crimson phoenix perched, clawing at her talons and singing. The melancholic tune seemed to lift his spirits-Fawkes was indeed a blessing in his life, in ways more than one—Dumbledore mused.

"What can I do for you?"

"Did you speak to him?" Poppy asked.

Dumbledore nodded, reminiscing about how Harry had blankly stared down Poppy in the Hospital wing. Suddenly, an epiphany came to him. "Poppy? Did he perchance...communicate with you in your mind?"

Poppy blanched for a moment and then nodded subtly. Just as expected.

"How did he do that, Albus? An eleven-year-old, capable of advanced Legilimency-I don't know what to think."

"You are the healer, Poppy." Albus returned, "What do you think about him?"

The woman stood silent for a moment, collecting her thoughts. "He is...broken."

The entire office fell silent. Even Fawkes had stopped his tune.

"He has been beaten, hurt and abused. They..." Poppy paused, trying to stop the indignation from bursting out of her, "they called him- they called him a monster, while kicking him." She glanced directly at Albus, her eyes raging in fury. "The boy told me-in my mind."

"What were his exact words?" Dumbledore continued, still trying to be objective about the matter.

Poppy looked outraged. "His words were as such-they told me I am Franklin-franksti-"

"Frankenstein?" Dumbledore supplied.

"Yeah, that." Poppy continued, "he told me that those bullies referred to him as Frankenstein's monster, and that he was here to find his creator."

"What? What is this Frank- thing, Albus?"

"Apparently, it is someone from this story book." He waved the purple book in front of them. "I will read it—perhaps things will become a bit clear, and I will let you know." Mcgonagall however, had no such intentions. A quick geminio charm later, two more copies of the same book lay on the table.

"I guess we can read it ourselves on our own. That works too." He chuckled. "Where is Severus?" he asked genially.

"I gave him two-month leave from Hogwarts. He will return at the next term." Minerva intervened.

"But—he would have liked to meet the boy." Dumbledore tried.

"He would have irritated and provoked the boy. Do not tell me you do not know how much he has been braying about the 'evil' that would stay in Hogwarts for the next seven years. Did you not hear him mouthing about 'James Potter's arrogant brat'? The boy is already in a mess. I do not want Severus to complicate things any further."

Dumbledore knew better than to argue.

"Very well."

Mcgonagall pursed her lips, striding away from the office. Poppy looked at him. "He is broken, Albus, and terribly so. He needs rest, medicines, good food and proper mind healing."

"I will bring him to you tomorrow morning, Poppy."

The matron nodded with a jerk before leaving the room. Dumbledore took the purple book in his hands and eased into his chair. " _Frankenstein_... let's see what you are."

* * *

 _ **A loud bang! The door to his playroom opened and his mother darted over to him. He always liked to play with her red hairs. It was so curly and long. He liked to twirl his little finger around his mother's hairs. His mother would sing him a lullaby to sleep always-and his Dada, he would always take him to fly. He loved the feeling when he flew on his broomstick. He—**_

 _ **There was another loud bang, and there was fire. He started crying.**_

 _ **His mummy almost flew in and embraced him; whispering to him anxiously.**_

 _ **"Don't worry Harry! Everything will be all right! Mummy loves you! Mummy will take care of you! Daddy loves you! Mummy loves you!" she almost chanted.**_

 _ **The door to his playroom blasted out into splinters, hitting his mummy who cried out in pain. A tall man in a dark cloak stood on the doorway, his wand in his hand. Harry did not like him at all. He was a big bad man.**_

 _ **"Step aside! And I will spare your life!"**_

 _ **"NO!" his mummy screamed. "Not Harry! Kill me instead! Kill me! Please let him stay alive!"**_

 _ **Harry felt something stir inside of him. It was just like how he felt when he was very hungry.**_

 _ **"Move aside girl!" The bad man admonished her.**_

 _ **"Please don't kill Harry! Let him be alive! Kill me instead!"**_

 _ **"Last chance girl! Move aside!"**_

 _ **His mummy was steadfast as ever. She stood gallantly in front of him, protecting Harry from the bad man.**_

 _ **"Mummy!" Harry cried.**_

 _ **"Be safe Harry!" his mummy told him one last time.**_

 _ **The bad man let out a loud laugh. Harry did not like him at all.**_

 _ **He raised his wand and uttered a spell- a spell that was forever embedded in Harry's mind.**_

 _ **"AVADA KEDAVRA!"**_

 _ **His mummy let out a shriek of pain, as she embraced the entire jet of green light that was coming to Harry's path and absorbed it; falling down on the floor.**_

 _ **That odd feeling in Harry's abdomen was now almost a burning sensation.**_

 _ **"MUMMMY!"**_

"HARRY! HARRY WAKE UP!"

"HARRY!"  
He opened his eyes frantically-the first thing he saw was flames—crimson flames above him. The entire room was burning. Shouting hysterically, he tried to jump off but strong hands held him back.

"Harry! Calm down! Calm down!"

He turned left to see the face of the man holding him. It was Dumbledore-the old man with the beard.

"What-what happened here?"

"Sit! Just relax! I will make it go." The man whispered softly, before raising his wand and swishing it above his head in a complicated motion. Instantly, the flames vaporized off, leaving the room just as it was previously.

"Did you have a bad dream? Do you want some water?"

"Water. I want water."

He conjured a glass of water and handed it to the boy who drank it gratefully.

"Did you have a bad dream, Harry?"

Nod.

"Do you want to speak about it?"

"Ava—Avada Kedavra!"

Dumbledore blanched. "Say again?"

"Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra! I see it often. The man in the black dress—light—fire-my—my mother screaming-Harry-green light-Avada Kedavra!" he turned instantly at the professor. "What is wrong with me?" he begged.

A tear threatened to fall off from the professor's left eye, but he stopped it. Almost. Sitting down on the bed beside the frantic boy, he whispered. "Listen to me, Harry. You are a very bright, very good boy. Nothing is wrong with you."

"They said- they said that I am a monster..."

Dumbledore shushed him. He had read the book and now he understood what it meant. "You are not a monster, Harry. The man who killed your parents—he was a monster. You are a good boy to whom bad things have happened. I promise you- no one will hurt you anymore."

"But—they beat me-they-"

Dumbledore looked around. There was no one. He looked sharply at the boy. "I will teach you then—to fight back. Then—they won't hurt you any longer."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

* * *

 **### A short one, but just enough for a trial. In response to those who wanted to know what the story was about. I guess I am able to give you a slight idea... The next chapter of resurgence comes in a few hours.**


	3. Chapter 3 : A better beginning

"I want you to take this potion before we begin. It is going to calm your mind, so that you do not overreact to my treatment."

Harry considered the man's words carefully. This man-dressed in pristine white robes and a gray hat, with that French-cut moustache and sharp looking blue eyes, stood before him—smiling as he gave him his directions.

"Will this hurt?"

"Not at all." The man promised.

Harry nodded. The old man—Dumbledore, he mused- had promised him that this treatment would help him remember everything about his past. His instinct somehow disagreed with him, telling him that it was not a good idea, but then again—the man had been good to him, so far.

 _I can always get angry at the end, anyway._

Holding the vial with his hands, he closed his eyes and gulped the entire contents down. It felt like sugar water—but at the same time, his thoughts began to stop flowing, as he became silent—unnaturally silent. It was just like the way it felt when he slept on the cold rock in the cave. A feeling of calmness descended upon him.

"Harry? I am going to try to enter your mind. You may feel something foreign inside your head...Just... do not try to fight it, alright?"

Harry nodded. The mind healer—Healer Bernard glanced at Dumbledore who nodded. Bernard was a seventh-level adept at Legilimency with masteries in the field of mental healing and muggle psychiatry, one of the most accomplished mind healers employed by the ICW, and importantly, Dumbledore's friend. When his old friend had asked for a favor-one that had turned out to be about healing the boy-who-lived, Bernard had jumped at the offer to help.

He looked into his bright green eyes, and whispered. _"Legilimens suaviter."_

* * *

The foray crept into the boy's mind. It was not a powerful mental intrusion against a magical barrier—it was a gentle breeze touching the mind, creeping into it and stimulating it to think. There was no forceful provocation or steering across personal memories—if anything, it was stimulating his mind to think and rediscover its own limits.

Harry felt the unwelcome presence in his mind but did not react, trying to allow it to penetrate into his mindscape. The presence began to shift through his mental layers as old memories began to emerge into his mind. Memories he had long forgotten... he saw himself walking down the road going to school...he remembered himself and Dudley playing on the same cot...there was a memory of him playing with some kind of toy in his hand inside his crib, with Petunia looking at him and smiling...

Then it changed.

 ** _He was sitting on the floor. His hands were bloodied, and red droplets were dripping down from his shirt and making a mess of the shiny marble floor. A leathery rag like thing was fallen near him, though he could not garner what it was._**

 ** _A shriek._**

 **" _You killed him? You killed- I will kill you!" A woman's voice. Very, very angry._**

 ** _SMACK!_**

 ** _Two of his front teeth broke, spewing blood on the floor. He looked back at the woman, his mind clouded with anger. His eyes turned jet black._**

 ** _Then the screaming began._**

* * *

Bernard's face held a gentle smile as he felt his Legilimency foray do its job perfectly as always. The boy's mind had begun to regurgitate information out into the midscale, clearing out the entangled mess inside. He even saw reflections of the memories as they occupied the boy's mindscape as he worked on separating more and more memories from the mess. Then, something strange began to happen.

An invisible force, humongous in power and threatening in behavior, began to repel against his presence. Bernard held against it for some moment, but the power seemed to increase drastically with time. He could plainly see how some of the newer detangled memories began to return into the veritable mess inside his mind, looping and interloping among themselves repeatedly.

 _What is happening?_

Suddenly it was all calm. No resistive force, nothing. Thinking the previous experience as some form of aberration, he had just begun to try to shift memories again, when a massive bulk of powerful energy lashed out at him.

 _No!_

* * *

Albus Dumbledore stood and watched Bernard perform his job with smooth efficiency. There was a reason he was the best at his job. He saw the boy's pupils dilate- a clear signal that his mind had begun to regurgitate memories, and felt his aura flicker. It was natural—memories had an emotional component in them and magical aura reacted heavily to emotions.

He saw the boy's shoulders sag down and felt his body go numb-it was a good sign and meant that everything was going nicely- Bernard was still staring into those green eyes without a single movement, and his body was still relaxed.

 _No resistance then, I hope._

Then strange things began to happen. The boy's body suddenly stiffened for a moment and Bernard shifted slightly.

 _Resistance?_

His doubts began to dissolve slowly, as he felt the boy go soft again but just then, he stiffened completely and widened his eyes. The bright emerald had changed into jet-black for some reason as he yelled.

"GET OUT OF MY MIND!"

The humongous force, with which he had expelled Bernard, had sent the man hurling away by five feet. The pupils shifted color back to emerald green instantly as the boy looked at him hysterically.

"What happened? Did I do something wrong?"

Dumbledore looked at the boy, his forehead creased with worry. He glanced a look at Bernard fallen down on the floor and trying to get up, and then back to the boy.

"Nothing, my boy. Nothing is wrong."

* * *

"Albus! Albus I am telling you", Bernard gushed uncharacteristically. "There is something in his mind. Something primal and dangerous. It is almost like trying to tame a dragon. Absolutely dangerous."

Albus narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"His mind is not his own. It is almost as he is sharing it with someone else. I had previously figured it out as the effects of a possession or something similar-but no, it is something entirely different. Something which is a part of him and yet completely different."

"I am afraid you have me at a loss." Dumbledore confessed.

"Magical theory and research has nothing to say about this matter. The only thing that I can link to the boy's condition is something that is seen in muggles."

"What is that?"

"Have you ever heard of something called Dissociative identity Disorder?"

Albus looked at him, flummoxed.

"I suppose you haven't, garnering from your reaction." Bernard mused, "It is a psychological situation when a person's mind undergoes situations of extreme stress. It causes the person's mind to fragment into multiple personalities, which take control of the individual alternately."

Dumbledore shook his head. "Young Harry here has at least two split personalities or two identities so to say. One is the meek, weak boy that he appears to be—fragile and emotionally traumatized. The other- as it seems so far, is a primal raging personality that takes control of him at odd moments, usually to counteract any harm that he may sense coming towards him. The primal counterpart rather viciously attacked me, I am afraid-I, a seventh-level Legilimens, and the boy threw me out like some amateur."

Dumbledore furrowed his temples, trying to figure out what may have happened that had caused such a disorder to manifest in the boy. Bernard continued. "The reason his memories are a mess is also explained by the disorder. His mind is failing to integrate the separate memories of two different personalities into one main memory chain. It is just like thinking about the incidents of two separate events simultaneously."

"A mess."

"Exactly." Bernard agreed, "While such a thing could easily be solved by creating two memory chains, it is not really possible in his case- the reason is simple."

"What?"

"Defragmentation." Bernard explained. "If I suddenly delete the memories of yesterday afternoon from your mind, leaving the morning and night intact, will you believe that your memory is fully correct?"

"No. I would think I am obliviated or something."

"Correct. Now think, if I obliviate random segments of your memory on daily basis, will your mind be able to keep a correct chain of the events?"

"That is what has happened to him?"

"Yes and no. While the memories have not been obliviated, his mind treats one fragment group as belonging to one personality, while the other group belongs to the other. A similar situation but yet dissimilar."

Dumbledore caressed his beard thoughtfully. "What can be done?"

"Nothing."

Dumbledore looked at him in disbelief.

"There is nothing _I_ can do." Bernard emphasized, "However, there is something you can do. It will be difficult and it will be strenuous—both for you and the boy, but the chances are good."

"And what _exactly_ does the process entail?"

Bernard smiled.

* * *

The next few days had been quite different for Harry. He would wake up in the morning and treat himself to treacle tart (something he had developed a taste for) and a big glass of pumpkin juice. That would follow with a set of nutritional potions Poppy had administered to overhaul the damage to his physical body. After that, he would spend time with some storybooks, which he would get from Dumbledore. Sometimes, Flitwick would come into his room and entertain him with tales. His dueling prowess aside, the half-goblin professor was an entertaining and amiable person, a good listener and a fantastic storyteller.

Later on as the day progressed, Minerva would call him in her office and together with Pomona Sprout—the Head of Hufflepuff, she would teach him some of the basics about the wizarding world, including teaching him how to read and write with a quill. The initial sessions were a bit frustrating, but it seemed that as days passed, he seemed to become much more comfortable and could read and write much more comfortably. At the end of the first week, the two had begun to demonstrate him some simple magical spells.

The color charm was one such spell. Simple to cast, they would transfigure him a whitewashed wall and let him paint all he wanted. Harry loved it. His angry moments and his nightmares had lessened a lot, almost vanishing by the end of the second week.

The evenings would be spent with Dumbledore in his office, during which the old man would have simple yet meaningful conversations with the young boy- often letting him talk about himself as much as possible. Initially he was closed and guarded, but as Dumbledore began to share anecdotes about his own life, he gathered enough courage and trust to tell him some moments from his own life too-whatever he remembered that is.

The nights he would spend alone-reading to himself from the library. Mcgonagall and Dumbledore had been a little biased when introducing him into the principles of magical education, unsuspectingly tilting his curiosity towards Transfiguration a bit more than about the others.

Personally, Harry found that he was enjoying reading about spells. His practice wand was not good enough to cast everything-Dumbledore had told him that he would take him to get a new wand for himself the next day, and Harry could not help but be excited about it.

* * *

The next day, Dumbledore apparated the young Potter to Diagon Alley. He had put a glamour charm over the boy, changing his hair to brown. Knowing how he did not need spectacles and his hair was different, the glamour made him practically indiscernible among the crowd. The general populace had an entirely different mental image of Harry Potter- someone who would like a miniature James Potter with green eyes and untamable hair sprouting out—spectacles and everything- it simply benefitted Harry at this point, making him all the more indiscernible.

Entering Ollivander's wand shop, Dumbledore felt the boy go stiff all of a sudden. Placing a hand on his left shoulder, he pressed it slightly, making the boy look up at him.

"Something wrong?"

"The place-the air—feels different-I cannot explain."

 _Can he really feel the ambient magic inside the shop? Was he reacting to the wards?_

"It is nothing, Harry. Come on."

While he had never really been in a shop before, let alone a wizarding one, he felt it was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read **Ollivander's': Makers of Fine Wands since 382b.c**. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window. A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that Dumbledore sat on to wait. Harry felt strangely as though he had entered a very strict library; he swallowed a lot of new questions that had just occurred to him and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of his neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Harry jumped. He looked back at Dumbledore and found him standing up too. An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello," said Harry awkwardly.

"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I would be seeing you soon. Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."  
Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Harry. Harry wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy. "Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it — it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

 _Are all wizards this strange?_

"I am not most wizards Mr. Potter," the old man began as Harry felt a cold shudder down his spine. How had the man known what he was thinking?

 _Can you also hear my thoughts?_

" _Yes, I can."_ The old wand maker stared back.

Harry did not reply.

"Now, the Headmaster has informed me about how sensitive you are to magic. Hence, we are not going to do the usual and hit-and-trial test for you. I have something more exciting!" the old man clapped his hands enthusiastically, much to Harry's chagrin and Dumbledore's amusement. "I will need some blood though."

Harry's eyes narrowed at the prospect of losing blood. He had lost more than enough in his life. Finding the stiffness in his posture, Ollivander explained. "It is necessary. We wouldn't want you to have a subpar wand, would we?"

Considering the situation, Harry nodded hesitantly and extended his right arm towards the man, who took a tiny needle and performed an incision. Taking exactly seven drops of fresh blood into a conjured vial, the old man told them to wait, as he receded to the back-chamber.

After what seemed like an anxious wait of thirty minutes, the old man returned to the front with two long thin boxes stacked on each other on his left hand. His face held a cheerful expression as he exclaimed. "Tricky customer! Very tricky customer! I had almost given up home midway you know?"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow while Harry simply looked flummoxed. Ollivander looked gleeful as he explained. "Complementary wands. I had never even thought that was possible, but now the impossible sits before me."

"Please explain, Garrick." Dumbledore requested.

"Ah! You see Albus; his blood shows an affinity for two separate cores and two separate woods. One is yew with basilisk venom, and the other is Deathwood with a phoenix feather." Dumbledore was just about to counter but Ollivander bet him off. "Not the feather from Fawkes. It was another feather that my grandfather had collected from another phoenix."

Dumbledore kept his surprise from showing itself and nodded.

"The problem is- neither core is compatible with the other, and yet somehow both the cores together show complete compatibility with his blood." He raised the two boxes. "Two wands-complementary to each other and being completely in tune to his magic. Yew and basilisk venom-" he opened one box to reveal a thin black wand with an ivory handle-"and Deathwood with phoenix feather-" he opened the second box, revealing the white Deathwood wand. He clapped his hands with glee. "Black and white. Yin and yang. Phoenix and Serpent. One for creation-" he pointed subtly towards the Deathwood, "—and the other-", he left the words unsaid, leaving a passing glance at Harry's lightning bolt scar.

One single thought dominated Dumbledore's mind. Two wands –one wizard. Two personalities –one person. Was it just a coincidence?

"What about the ministerial regulations on wand usage, Garrick?"

"Not an issue. It is taken for granted that wizards and witches use only one wand at a time. For some reason, Mr. Potter here is incompatible with a single wand. Exception to the rule. I will need to note it up and send the necessary documentation to the ministry. Perhaps if you could give a recommendation-"

Dumbledore nodded. "Without fail."

"Thank you." Turning to Harry, he offered, "Can I interest you in anything else, my boy?"

* * *

"Professor?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Tell me about this dark lord. The one who killed my parents and made me this...Boy-who-lived..."

Dumbledore stopped munching his food as he folded his arms and rested his chin on top. The Leaky Cauldron was quite empty but then again, it was afternoon and a Sunday. Despite everything, he did not trust not to be eavesdropped. Raising a powerful privacy ward, he looked up at the child in front of him.

"His name is Lord Voldemort."

"Lord...Voldemort..." For some reason, the name felt intimately familiar to him. As if, he had heard it many times before, but was hearing it after a long, long time again.

"Why did he kill my parents?"

"Your parents... they opposed him. They were good people who wanted to live happily among all, but Voldemort- he was against it. He wanted to rule over Magical Britain and kill the-" he paused, "Do you remember what Pomona taught you about the different bloodlines?"

Harry scrunched his face. "About those pureblood, half-blood thingies?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Yes, about those things. Voldemort wanted to kill all the Muggleborns and also any half-bloods or purebloods that stood against him."

"My mother-she was a muggleborn?"

Dumbledore observed the sudden dark emotional pallor that shrouded his face instantly. "Yes, she was."

"Why?" It was more of a command to answer than a question. Dumbledore observed him carefully. The question had to be more specific.

"Why did he want to kill Muggleborns?"

"I cannot say. I can only say what he claimed as the reason."

Harry scrunched his face, trying to decipher what the old man meant. Dumbledore chuckled. "You know how much I like my lemon drops right?"

Harry nodded his head.

"Do you like them?"

He shook his head in denial.

"Now if I would offer you a lemon drop, would you take it because I would feel good? Or will you reject it on my face, despite knowing how much I love them?"

Harry thought for a moment—his forehead creased as he engaged in furious thought. Finally, he reached an answer, and stared back.

"No. I won't take them, because I know you would love them anyway, no matter what I say."

Dumbledore laughed. "Never change, Harry. Never change."

* * *

"Where are we going now, professor?"

Dumbledore nudged him forwards to make him take the lane. "We are going to Gringotts. Remember the wizarding-"

"Bank!" Harry returned. He had learnt about Gringotts just two days ago. "But why?"

"We are going to see what your parents left for you."

Harry stopped midway. "My...parents?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Why yes, Harry. Did you think they would leave nothing for you?"

Harry just stood stupefied. After another soft nudge, he walked up with the Headmaster. The building had large bronze doors with a number of armed creatures-goblins Harry mused, standing guard. A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors and they were in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. The Headmaster and his student walked towards one of the counters.

Dumbledore cleared his voice. "Mr. Potter here would like to visit his vault."

The goblin teller looked up in surprise at finding the venerable headmaster of Hogwarts standing in front of him. While the goblins did not think of wizard kind as worth anything more than scum, they did however respect the Headmaster- the one person in Britain who had relentlessly strived for equality amongst magical creatures and populations. He was also one of the very few people in Britain who understood and spoke Gobbledygook flawlessly.

"Does Mister Potter have his key?"

"Yes."

"Very well. Griphook here," he indicated at another goblin who steered forward, "will aid you."

* * *

Harry might have lived in a cave for over a year but the subterranean region and the goblin cart pathway was the most exciting thing he had done recently. The roundabouts and the sharp bends with the high-speed goblin cart steering down through the subterranean tunnels were truly enjoyable.

"Can we do that again?" he asked excitedly at the Headmaster, who smirked at him amusedly. The pair got down from the cart while Griphook walked forward to open the door. He took the little gold key from Albus Dumbledore and thrust it into a hole on the door, and turned it anti-clockwise. The door opened with a hiss, revealing a circular opening large enough for a single man to enter at a time. Inside was a substantial heap of shining yellow coins, with smaller mounds of silver and brown coins too.

Harry's eyes widened. "All of that is mine?"

"Only till your seventeenth birthday. After that, the contents of this trust vault shall be fused with your family vault."

 _Family vault?_

Harry turned towards the Headmaster who looked at him and thought clearly.

 _I will explain later._

Harry shook his head and looked back at the mountain of gold, as he and Dumbledore entered inside. There was also a small table with a small pair of journals, and a photo album. He walked up towards the table and opened the journals. The first had 'Prongs' written on top of it. There was an insignia of a large stag on the cover.

The other journal belonged to 'Lily Marie Potter'-his mother. With a nod from Dumbledore, Harry collected the journals and the letters- Dumbledore had conjured a small bag for him and he put the journals inside them- "How much money will I need?"

"I knew I was forgetting something-" Dumbledore commented, his moustache quivering in annoyance, "The gold ones are galleons, Harry. The silver ones are sickles and the bronze ones are Knuts. A galleon is worth seventeen sickles and each sickle is worth twenty-nine Knuts. As for how much you need, I would advise you to take fifty of each. That should do you good for the entire year."

Harry quickly nodded and turned to Griphook. "How much is this?"

The goblin looked amused. "This vault is charmed to contain ten thousand galleons. That amount has been allotted to you until you come of age. Your school fees are automatically deducted from the family vault and hence you do not need to worry about it."

Taking one of the pouches hanging on one side of the vault, Harry bent down and quickly ushered the required money inside it.

* * *

After an exorbitant amount of shopping for an eleven-year-old, Harry was finally done with buying everything he required- two sets of uniform, three sets of informal robes, his entire booklist and some more of what caught his fancy, his potions kit and finally- a snowy owl that Dumbledore had bought for him as a gift. The Headmaster had apparated him back to school-as always, he hated the squeezing-feeling that came with Apparation, but even he had to concede—Apparation had its uses. An old memory of himself vanishing from the grounds and suddenly arriving at the top of the roof came to mind, but it was too fragmented to make any heads or tails of it.

The next couple of weeks had passed faster than he had ever expected. Harry had taken to the books faster than fish to water, and the fact that he was already halfway reading 'Hogwarts: A history' proved what kind of a voracious reader he was. Flitwick had already placed bets on him being sorted to his House-something Mcgonagall had scowled at before admitting that Harry did seem like a raven more than a lion.

Finally, it was September, the first and it was time for the new school term for the scholastic session of 1991 to officially begin. Since he was a student of Hogwarts, the charter demanded that he should be arriving to the school by some express train specially created and used for such purpose. As such, young Harry Potter found himself on the Kings Cross Platform on the Platform 9 and three quarters. For a giant, Hagrid was a big softie—at least Harry thought so. Leaving him alone on the platform, Hagrid bid him goodbye as Harry waited for the Hogwarts' express to arrive.

* * *

 **### And finally the school session begins.. reviews please.**


	4. Chapter 4 : On the Express

Harry stood in front of the massive magical express train—golden and crimson up front in the engine, and the beautifully decorated doors and compartments all along the way until the end. This was the Hogwarts express- honking and whistling repeatedly as people began appearing left and right from what seemed to be fireplaces-Floo, Harry reminded himself—Mcgonagall had talked about them-though he still could not help but wonder where the soot and everything must go when wizards stepped inside the fireplace.

 _Must be something magical._

He stepped into one of the compartments, and finding it empty within-he put his trunk on one of the racks above as he sat comfortably by the window. It was quite early, he mused—considering how the compartments were mostly empty. He took out a small book on elementary transfiguration from within his moleskin pouch (an impulsive buy on Dumbledore's recommendation). Professor Mcgonagall had presented it to him as a belated birthday gift—odd since he had never quite known what his birth date was. It was almost a weird surprise to find out that the magical world apparently knew more about him than he knew himself.

 _Given my memory, that is almost a given._

He was already halfway through the fourth page of the new book when he felt someone push his door. A black-haired girl stepped in halfway and finding him inside, she stopped on her tracks. She had a lot of long, shiny black hair with deep blue eyes with a heart-shaped face—quite cute for a young eleven-year-old. She observed him staring at her before asking, "Excuse me, can I sit here?"

Harry never had any kind of experience with other children except his cousin and his friends. Yes, there were some children in school (what he could remember anyway) but most of them usually stayed away in fear of his whale of a cousin. The fact that he had led a solitary existence for the next couple of years, most of the time drifting between periods of darkness and sleep- he did not know how to interact with this person in front of him. Of course, he could now interact better with the old man and the other professors- but this was different. This was a person of his own age, and Harry was not sure what to say.

The girl seemed to stare back imperiously at him, and after a moment, he shifted his eyes to the wall opposite him, bobbing his head—though it came out more like a random jerk. The girl stepped in, dragging her trunk behind her as she stood in front of him.

"Mind helping me putting my trunk on the rack?"

She had a pretty voice, Harry garnered. He looked up at the girl and nodded slightly. Standing up, he took full advantage of his height as he lifted her trunk up onto the racks. It was considerably heavier than his own was—he figured.

"I suppose you have a name." she remarked bristly. Harry just nodded back. He did have a name after all- it did not matter that he found it out a couple of months ago.

The girl twisted her lips in disgust—the boy's oddity getting to her. She mentally declared him to be some sort of arrogant boy—one who got some sick pleasure in winding her up—not to mention that she had asked for his name, and he didn't have the basic courtesy to return it.

 _Well if he is not going to say his name, I am not going to go asking for it._

The boy seemed to return to his book with nary a thought. She thought the action was unreservedly rude and decided to get herself busy in a book herself.

After what seemed like fifteen silent minutes, Harry looked up from his book and peered at this new girl sitting in front of him.

"What is your name?" He tried. A conversation never hurt, after all. Moreover, Dumbledore had always encouraged him to get to know people, no matter how much he disliked it.

The girl looked up in answer, her bright blue eyes staring at her with some kind of expression in her eyes-something that seemed strangely like victory, if he was not wrong. "Daphne Greengrass."

"Nice to meet you, uh- Daphne!" he tried lamely.

"Who are you?" she almost demanded-suppressing her inner question which was _'what are you?'_ \- It was invariably rude but so were the antics of this...boy in front of her.

"Harry Potter."

Her eyes widened, realizing what the boy in front of her had just said-her eyes drew up instantly towards his head, mechanically dilating to allow her to see the faint stretch of an irregular line across his forehead-the famed lightning bolt scar. Her eyes then centered on his emerald orbs, and then back onto the scar.

"Harry... Potter?" she almost croaked.

Harry wondered if she was going to burst. He nodded subtly.

Daphne controlled her sudden swell of emotions that had resulted from her surprise, chastising herself for acting like a fan girl of a sudden-she glanced back towards her book, calming herself using the breathing exercises she had learnt from her mother. After ten seconds, she glanced up. "You are really Harry Potter?"

"That's what they told me."

Daphne raised her eyebrows at the sarcastic remark, thought given the way the boy—Harry Potter had answered it blankly, it was _almost_ sincere. Then again, this was Harry Potter.

"I have heard a lot of stories about you." She almost felt compelled to continue the conversation. Harry raised an eyebrow at which, she continued—"I read that you have been sent away to live with your muggle family after defeating You-know-who, though I am not really sure of it."

 _Muggle...family..._

"What else do you know about my family?" Harry asked- his voice a bit edgy all of a sudden.

"Nothing much, just that they are muggles and you had been sent away, though there were stories about how you also lived with dragons and elves and phoenixes-" Daphne rattled away, ignorant of the sudden whitening of Harry's clutches. Suddenly she felt his penetrating stare fixed at her, and stopped midway... "Did I say anything wrong?"

"Nothing...just- I don't like talking about my family. That's all." Harry replied, his hands gripping his book tightly. Daphne observed that his clenched left fist- kept on top of the bench had slightly dented it.

 _Weird. I wonder how he dented the bench. It is supposed to be strong._

She kept silent.

"Is this the first time you are going to Hogwarts?"

Daphne looked up. Whatever she might have thought her conversation with someone like Harry Potter-this was certainly not it. Harry Potter was a walking talking mess of contradictions.

"Yes", she sighed, "this is my first time. Yours?"

"I have lived in Hogwarts for the past two months."

 _What?_

The expression on her face told him that it was either wrong to mention it, or perhaps it was not normal. Then again, he was not normal really. He kept silent.

 _Odd._ Daphne thought.

"So what are you reading?"

Harry looked up. This was familiar ground. "This book- professor Mcgonagall gave me this. I think this is wonderful." He almost gushed, unable to keep his enthusiasm to himself.

"Elementary Transfiguration Principles." Daphne read the cover. She considered the expression on his face.

 _Ravenclaw! Definitely Ravenclaw!_

"Which house do you think you will be going?"

Harry considered the question. "I don't know. I don't want to be in Slytherin, though."

Daphne's face scrunched. "Why is that?"

"Lord Voldemort was in Slytherin. I want to be different from him."

Daphne gasped. "You said his name?"

Harry looked embarrassed. "Sorry, I know people don't like it. I will try to not mention it later."

 _Definitely odd._

"This train ride is really long. I mean, it is over an hour I think. My father said it will be dark before we reach Hogwarts". Harry shrugged in reply.

An abrupt silence prevailed for some moments before the door to their compartment opened suddenly, as a blonde boy walked into the compartment. Two extra-large, extra-filled up boys stood behind him like henchmen. From the looks of it, the two of them seemed to act like bodyguards for the blonde in the middle.

He seemed to sniff something in the air with a distasteful expression before looking down at Harry. "I heard that Harry Potter is travelling to Hogwarts by train. Are you him?"

Harry considered the question, before nodding subtly.

The boy extended his hand out in a condescending way. "I am Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. You must have heard of my family before."

Harry thought quickly. He had read quite a bit into 'Hogwarts: A history' while the professors had also taught him a lot. Strangely, though, he had never quite heard about the name 'Malfoy' yet.

"Uh...Not really. Who are you?"

The blonde seemed quite perplexed at the answer. "You haven't heard about us Malfoys? What were you doing all these years-associating and living among Mudbloods?"

"Malfoy!" Daphne snapped at his use of the 'mudblood' comment. "Do you really to resort to profanity of all things?"

"Ah Greengrass, nice to meet you. I see you have already acquainted yourself with a celebrity." He turned to give her a snotty look. Glancing back to Harry, he remarked, "You are new here, so I can understand it. However, you should make friends among the right families. I can help you there."

Harry glanced at Daphne for a moment-observing the hard look in her eyes. He turned back to the blonde boy-Malfoy, he reminded himself. "I think", he paused; trying to gather his words together, "I think I will wait for a little more before I decide it."

Draco stared at him with an inscrutable expression for a moment. "So be it." He stepped back and called out, "Crabbe, Goyle—we are done here." With an imperious expression on his face, he marched away, leaving Harry perplexed for a moment.

After Draco and his henchmen had left the compartment, Daphne let out her breath with a deep sigh. "It was a good thing you did not antagonize him, Potter."

At his perplexed look, she explained. "The Malfoys are filthy rich, and are one of the most politically powerful families in our society. Lucius Malfoy has the Minister himself answering him at every beck and call—so much that one would think that he is the Minister himself."

Harry looked thoughtful.

"Did you really never hear anything about them before?" At Harry's denial, she sighed. "You need to be acquainted with a lot of things, Potter. Else someone like you could make a lot of mistakes in our society." Her tone was slightly condescending, but Harry ignored it.

"Someone like me?" He asked, his finger pointing at his chest. Daphne let out a long-suffering sigh. "You are Harry Potter—the boy-who-lived. You are a celebrity. You are more famous than even the Minister himself is. You are the sole heir to the Ancient family of Potter, famed for its business ventures and family fortune. Need I explain more?"

"Ancient family? Sole-" Harry mumbled to himself, much to her chagrin.

"You have a lot to learn, Potter. You were right. Slytherin is not for you. The house politics in Slytherin would fry you and the other children would feed on your faux-passes like hungry sharks." She glanced at the book in his hands. "You would do well in Ravenclaw, I suppose."

"Ravenclaw..." Harry hummed, "professor Flitwick is nice. He tells nice stories." He grinned.

Daphne rolled her eyes. Whatever she had expected from Harry Potter—this was not it.

 _Astoria would be disappointed._

"Where do you think you will be sorted to?" Harry could not help but ask. Daphne was just about to answer when the door knocked open again and a redheaded boy stepped in. He looked a bit shaken. "Hey mate," he addressed Harry as if they had been great friends, "can I sit here? My brothers kicked me out."

Harry shrugged as the boy dragged his trunk in and sat next to him.

"I am Ron. Ron Weasley."

"Harry Potter."

"Are you really?"

Harry sighed while Daphne rolled her eyes. Then again, she herself had been quite shaken at the revelation herself initially. However, the young redhead seemed to have had a blind spot to her presence so far.

"Do you really have the-the" Ron babbled.

Daphne rolled her eyes again.

"The what?" Harry asked.

"Scar!" Ron answered-the reverence in his voice quite distinct.

 _Here it goes again!_ Harry mused to himself.

"Do you remember the night it happened?"

Daphne narrowed her eyes as she noticed Harry going stiff. It was an extremely personal question to ask. Boy-who-lived he might be, but he had lost his parents that night. The redhead seemed to lack tact completely.

"I think it is incredibly rude of you to ask him that." She defended.

"Who are you?" Ron crossed, his eyes narrowed.

"Daphne Greengrass."

Ron scrunched up his face, trying to remember what he knew about the family. It was a common thing for pureblood children to be taught about the other families of wizarding Britain.

"I know about you. My mother says that your family supported You-know-who!" Ron exclaimed, his fingers pointing crazily at her. Harry instantly shot a surprised look at her, shocked at the revelation. Ron turned back to harry and exclaimed. "You should stay away from her, mate. Their family is as Slytherin as they come. They will perhaps kidnap you and—I don't know—do something bad to you." His voice was almost hysterical at the end.

Daphne widened her eyes in shock at the open hostility and character bashing that the redhead was doing about her and her family. She did not fail to notice the sudden look of surprise that Potter gave her-his eyes filled with one single question-was it true?

She shook her face imperceptibly, her eyes shaken with rage at the humiliation and bashing- angry at the lies that this imbecile had just spewed-she felt his eyes demand an answer.

 _No! My father did not support the dark lord!_

She thought hard, as she swallowed and opened her mouth to answer.

" _I believe you."_

Daphne felt the truth of his statement reach her, feeling elated that she had not been misunderstood when the reality of the situation shot into her.

 _His lips did not move._

She looked at her directly. _"Can you hear my thoughts?"_

Harry just nodded, shocking her out of her mind. He turned to Weasley. "I think you are being too judgmental. She is a nice person."

Ron looked affronted by it as he remarked coldly. "You should listen to me, mate. Anyway, you will be a Gryffindor with me and she will probably be a slimy Slytherin. You would do-," Ron continued.

However, Harry wasn't listening anymore. His mind was inundated with old memories...

" _ **You will listen to me, boy!"**_

" _ **I order you. I will tell you, and you will do likewise."**_

" _ **You will listen or else I will beat the shit out of you, boy."**_

" _ **Monster, Monster! Listen to me, freak! You are Frankenstein's monster!" They laughed.**_

Harry's eyes grew cold as a weird wind started to blow around him, his aura turning visible, scaring the redhead. His eyes—no more the usual bright green, but now into an onyx black, stared vehemently at the redhead who seemed to be completely oblivious and petrified.

"You will not tell me what to do, and what not to do. Is that clear?"

Ron swallowed. "Yes. I- I should go." He sprang up and dashed out of the door, dragging his trunk with him. The door closed with a creak as Harry felt the anger within him trying to erupt out.

"Potter?" Daphne whispered, afraid of the energies crackling out of the young boy. Harry turned towards her suddenly, his black pupils staring at her, gauging her thoughts. Finding her scared and harmless, the sudden flux of energies ceased as his eyes turned back to vivid green.

"Did I- Did I scare you?" he tentatively asked.

"No- no, you didn't." she stammered. "Excuse me, I-I need to see my friend." She got up suddenly, dashing out of the compartment, leaving him alone as another fresh memory rose back in his mind.

" _ **I am sorry I cannot be friends with you." She said.**_

" _ **Why?"**_

" _ **I-" she gulped, "I am scared something-" she paused, and stared behind his back. Dudley and his band of thugs were standing behind him, smirking. "I am afraid you will do something to me."**_

 _ **She ran away.**_

" _ **But Erica-"**_

 _ **There was no one there.**_

" _ **See there, Freak? No one wants to be friends with you." They laughed.**_

 _ **He hated it.**_

"I am alone. I am always alone." He muttered to himself inside the empty compartment. "They said that I am a freak, that I am evil..."

A stray thought peeped into his mind. One he was sure that he had never thought by himself.

 _ **There is no good and evil. There is only power and those too weak to seek it.**_

" _Power."_ He wondered, raising his hand. A sudden amber flame appeared on his fingers, coupled with some tiny forks of lightning as they jumped from one finger to another.

 _Is this really so bad?_

His eyes glanced back at the fallen Transfiguration book.

 _I have to be powerful. I have to be powerful. Else, these memories will haunt me forever. If I am the monster, then they will be afraid of this monster. They will._

* * *

Daphne walked towards the end of the compartments-until she heard a very familiar voice from inside. She knocked the door-felt someone open it as she stepped in.

"Daphne!" A girl with auburn hair and a cute face yelled. She had a cute pimple right next to her nose on her cheek. "Where were you? I looked for like... everywhere for you, but I couldn't find you."

"I was-I was in the front part, Tracey."

"Oh. With whom?"

"Harry Potter."

The change in Tracey's demeanor was downright amusing. The look of simple concern changed to surprise to shock to jealousy to confusion to downright hysteria. "HARRY POTTER?"

"Sheee!" Daphne hissed, glaring at her for her unprecedented yell. "Yes, now stop shouting." She stepped in, and let her trunk stay on the floor. "I was sharing the compartment with him."

"How is he? Is he just like what we read in those-?"

"Stop, Tracey." Daphne commanded in resignation. "He isn't like what we read, but he is—he is different."

Tracy scrunched up her face. "Why are you here, then?"

Daphne looked perplexed. Tracy sighed. "I mean, if I was with Harry Potter, I would have stayed there. Why did you get away and come find me?"

Daphne narrowed her eyes. "I am not a Harry Potter fan girl, Tracey Davies." Tracey snorted. "Right, that's why you have all those Boy-who-lived books up in your-"

"I was seven!" she deadpanned.

"And?"

Daphne did not reply.

"So why did you leave him?"

"He was-" she hesitated, "the Weasley boy was irritating me, and then Potter got all winded up and scary and drove him away, and then-" she looked at Tracey with complete shock in her eyes. "I ran away from him, frightened." She added- a tone of incredulity and sadness in her eyes.

"Daph!"

"I should go!" she mumbled, leaving her trunk where it was as she left the compartment to find him.

* * *

Daphne broke into her previous compartment, dashing into it as she breathed heavily. "I am sorry Potter I did not-" she panted, before the silence of the room got to her. She was alone in the room.

Potter was not there.

"Where did he go now?" She checked the rack- the trunk was missing. Might he have gone and joined someone else? Could be. There was no one on the express who would reject a chance to have Harry Potter sitting in his or her compartment. Disappointed, she drudged back to Tracey's compartment back again.

On her way back, she tried her best to hear any sounds coming out of the other compartments. Considering it was filled with children, it wasn't a tough job. However, there was no sound remotely similar to Potter's voice.

Entering Tracey's compartment, she sagged down on the seat and sighed. Upon Tracey's confused look, she explained. "Couldn't find him. I think he might have shifted to some other compartment."

"Well, I guess you will have to find him later when you reach school."

Daphne nodded primly.

* * *

Charms were a wonderful thing. Not as versatile as transfiguration, but Charms had their own potential, that much was sure. After all, his mother was a Charms Mistress when she lived-having apprenticed under Professor Flitwick. The two journals he had gotten from the Gringotts vault were full of information about his parents—how they thought, how they lived, how their time in Hogwarts was—everything. Harry had decided to leave his father's journal for now and read his mother's first. It was a choice by instinct-whether it was because of his primal want for maternal affection or not, he did not know. What he did know, however was that the journal of 'Lily Marie Potter' was priceless.

Sitting on the roof of the train, his trunk 'magically shrunk' into his pocket, he sat silently—reading his mother's journal as the fierce wind swept his long hair repeatedly on his face. Dumbledore had recommended a haircut but for some reason, Harry had insisted on having that hair for the time being-not that anyone would complain-long hair was a pureblood norm among old families. It showed power and social status, though people usually tied it in a knot or something.

 _I have to be powerful. Only then will they stop ordering me._

His mother's journal was a veritable flood of information. For some reason, Lily Potter had sequentially categorized her journal into sections, each detailing her knowledge of spells and theory, even her own experimentation and their results. It made it easier for him to locate the few spells, which he believed he could understand and learn them. While it was still difficult, at least her mother's way of writing down the theory made it easier to pick them up, than from the textbook.

He had yet to finish through the first year part of her journal-he had planned to move forward only when he was perfectly sure he could perform all the spells written there flawlessly and with ease. So far, her school memories were quite normal—with occasional references to his father, James Potter—referenced as the 'supreme git of Gryffindor' and something along those lines. There was also reference to some Alice and Marlene-though he had yet to see their full names so far. Another important thing that he had spotted though was the biased way everyone would treat his mother. She had written about the way she would be insulted on the corridors because of her 'muggleborn' status. It made him furious.

 _ **The wizarding population are sheep. They are prejudiced, easily swayed, and they just cannot think for themselves. They will never try to change. If you ask questions, the answer is- You came into the wizarding world of your own accord. We did not force you to come here!**_

 _ **Nobody ever tells that if you reject the offer to enter the wizarding world, you get your magic bound forever and make you a squib. The choice is merely an illusion.**_

 _ **How self-righteous! Ask the right questions, and you are labelled a blood-traitor, and God help you if you are a muggleborn, you will be immediately be tagged as a Mudblood. Change yourself to suit our world they say, for of course, God forbid the society is ever wrong!**_

 _ **They sort people into different houses based on some silly characteristics, and then put on their biased glasses. You have ambition, you are a Slytherin, and by extension, a dark wizard or witch in the making. Then, those very Slytherins grow up and become business owners and Lords, and the sheep are just as happy to work under them. I do not know whether to call it evil or plain stupidity.**_

It painted a very different picture of the wizarding world than what Dumbledore and the professors shared with him. He was confused—which was right, and which was wrong. Could it be that both were right?

His thoughts turned to Dumbledore. The old man had taken him under his wing and taken excellent care of him. The fact that he had become so fit and healthy in matter of weeks was because of him and the professors. They had taught him so much—the headmaster had shared so many stories—he had taken him to Gringotts and got him the journals and the monies-he had even helped him stop the nightmares to some extent. Surely, he couldn't be all that bad, could he?

He thought about the girl who had just run away from him in fear—about the redhead who seemed bent on forcing his opinions on him-about the blonde boy and his fellows who also seemed to do the same, if a little less snobbishly. Then again, the girl—Daphne he reminded himself-she had told him that the Malfoys were rich and powerful.

Finally, there was one thing that remained in his mind-Daphne's words-"sole heir... ancient family..." somehow, everyone seemed to know more about him than he did. It was all the same all over again. The Dursleys held the advantage of knowing who is parents' were and everything—and they held it above him. They used his ignorance to say all kinds of insults about them—and he had to bear it all. He remembered how he felt that they were lying, but then again, he did not know what the truth was either.

The same was happening all over again. People knew more about him than he knew about himself. He held up his right hand and looked at his middle finger- a large signet ring with a golden capstone shone brightly. An image of a gryffin was engraved on the surface with the words written on them-

 _ **Sedit qui timuit ne non succederet.**_

 _ **He who feared he would not succeed sat still.**_

He clenched his fist, and for some reason, the golden capstone shone with an extra vigor, almost as if responding to his emotions. It was almost dark now and the train was likely close to Hogwarts, so he jumped off from the rack he was perched on, down to the railing and finally into the main corridor. Finding an empty compartment, he slid in silently.

Time to begin a new phase of his life.

* * *

 **### I borrowed the phrase for the Potter's motto from 'HARRY POTTER AND THE PRINCE OF SLYTHERIN'-my favorite piece of fanfiction on this website. Hope you like it, and reviews please.**


	5. Chapter 5: Revelations

Harry woke up amidst the green covers surrounding him. For what it was worth, Slytherin House was quite lavish from the inside. For one, every single student received an independent room, no matter how small—but an independent room, for their own. While quite rudimentary, it was more than what he had been used to, all his life. On second thought, the guest quarters close to the Headmaster's office were much more comfortable and luxurious, but even then—this room was quite good enough. There was a table for him, coupled with a chair and a quill stand. There was a single shelf on the other end of the room, most likely for hanging his clothes. The wooden bed was not bad either, while a dark green and silver carpet adorned the walls and the floor. While one could complain that the decoration could have done better with including a couple more colors, he was certainly not going to complain.

He got off the bed, heading towards the shelf. Staying at Hogwarts for the past two months had provided him with a sense of normality in the environment. Normality for wizards, that is. Collecting his school robes, he headed towards the bathroom with his robes in tow. Considering how fascinating his official entrance in Hogwarts was, he was sure that the amusements and surprises would not end any time soon.

* * *

 **The previous night...**

While he had been to the Great Hall quite a number of times in the past, it looked much more magnificent and spectacular than ever. Perhaps it was because of the hundreds of students in black robes sitting on the four long tables, or perhaps it was the pomp and festive mood that hung over the Great hall. The professors were all seated on the staff table, and Harry could spot many new people, he could swear not having seen before. He was used to Professors Flitwick and Mcgonagall, and sometimes Sprout would tell her stories. Occasionally, he spotted Professor Vector and professor Babbling during lunch, and of course, there was the Headmaster and Hagrid. The half-giant was quite soft at heart, provided one managed to look beyond his outer mammoth figure.

His sight spanned all across the Hall. There was a stern-looking man sitting right beside Flitwick that attracted his attention. He had long, black hair falling down on either side of his head, almost like his own. He had dark black eyes with a pointed nose, not to forget the stern expression on his face. Harry decided that he would not want to be on the bad side of this man.

There was another man, this time wearing a turban. For some reason, Harry felt strangely attracted and repulsed by the man, though he could not ascertain the reasons behind his gut instinct. Deciding to avoid the two new professors as much as possible, Harry awaited his sorting.

Professor Mcgonagall had moved on from 'Granger, Hermione' to 'Greengrass, Daphne'—he had done his level best not to look up. For some reason, he did not want to face the girl any time sooner. She had proceeded to 'Malfoy, Draco'- Harry saw the blonde boy he had met on the train get up and in a matter of seconds, the tattered old Hat had pronounced him 'Slytherin'. After 'Parkinson, Pansy' had also been sorted to Slytherin, it was finally his turn.

"Potter, Harry."

And the whisperings began all at once.

" _Potter,_ did she say?"

" _The_ Harry Potter?"

The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.

"I am not tattered, though I suppose I cannot disagree with your calling me 'old'." A soft disembodied voice whispered into his ear, much to his shock. "Relax, I am the Sorting Hat. Now, let's get you started, shall we?"

The hat paused for a moment. "Let's see. Hmmm. Not bad, not bad. You have talent, and oh... the desire to prove yourself, and become powerful. Ambition indeed. Plenty of courage but you fear your power...interesting...I remember someone exactly like you, though. Strange coincidence that- but I digress. Well, you would do well in all houses."

Harry sighed. "I do not want to be in Slytherin."

"Not Slytherin eh? Any reason? You could be great you know. There is thirst in you, a desire to achieve great things, and Slytherin could help you achieve them."

Harry's pleas went silent.

"Reconsidering are we?" The hat continued, "What is it that motivates you?"

Harry closed his eyes and thought about it. An image flashed in front of his mind's eye. The Potter ring. His mother's journal.

 _Sedit qui timuit ne non succederet._

"Ah! Just as I thought," the hat decided with a firm voice, "there is just one place for you my boy. Earlier I thought you would be a Ravenclaw, but your choices have changed. You are destined for the house of Salazar SLYTHERIN!" The last word was shouted out with such exuberance that even Dumbledore looked down with greater interest than before.

Almost immediately, the whispers resurrected.

"Slytherin?"

"The boy-who-lived in Slytherin?"

Harry stood up as Mcgonagall took the Hat off his head and nudged him towards the table of green and silver. It took him a moment to figure how the Hall had suddenly gone deathly silent. His eyes darted towards Mcgonagall who looked surprised and cold for some reason, as he turned towards the Slytherin table.

He walked past the students sitting on the Slytherin table, noticing the faces of people he would have to live with for the next seven years. His sight glazed over the rest of the tables, observing everyone's reactions. There were those who looked as if they had been shocked, stupefied, and then there were some that looked downright angry. The redheaded boy from the train was one of the latter ones. He finally reached an empty seat and ushered in.

"A Potter in Slytherin. I must say I never saw that coming." Draco Malfoy commented from two seats to his left. "I now know why you seemed all right in the train. After all, you got sorted for Slytherin like the rest of us."

Harry nodded.

"Introductions first," Draco continued, demonstrating quite clearly who was in charge, "this is Pansy Parkinson of the Noble House of Parkinson." He introduced Harry to a girl with braided hair and a slightly pug face. "And you already know Crabbe and Goyle." Said boys grunted back in return. Not sure about what to make of that, Harry gave a little nod. For reasons best known to him, Draco seemed to think that he did just fine.

"I am surprised you are in Slytherin, Potter."

Harry turned towards his right. Just one seat next to him, on the opposite side stood the girl on the train-Daphne Greengrass. Harry cast a strange look at her, something that instantly made the girl shy her eyes away from him. The other girl sitting beside her, away from Harry, seemed exhilarated and waved towards him. "I am Tracy. Tracy Davis. Nice to meet you."

Harry nodded. "Harry. Harry James Potter." He was very proud of his full name, not knowing his name for the better part of his life. To know that he had loving parents and a heritage to stand up to, it was the best feeling he ever had in his life. Feelings that could only match with the ones that roused in him whenever the Headmaster spent time with him.

Tracy nodded and went back to chatting animatedly with Greengrass who seemed to throw glances at him now and then. He had caught her fleetingly once, but she had not said anything. Unsure what to make out of her strange behavior, he had ignored it and focused on ingratiating himself with the rest of the House. He never saw the fleeting look of disappointment that passed Daphne's face when he turned his face away from her.

"Where were you all these years, Potter?" One of the senior students of Slytherin asked him. Harry glanced momentously at Dumbledore at the staff table as he was reminded of one of his discussions with the Headmaster.

" _ **Professor?"**_

" _ **Yes, Harry?"**_

" _ **After getting sorted, do I have to leave my room?"**_

 _ **Dumbledore chuckled at the apparent sadness at the boy's voice. "Yes, my boy. You do. You will have your own friends in your sorted house. You wouldn't want to stay away from them, would you?"**_

 _ **Harry considered the question. Friends... he never had any friends in his life, before. Would he make friends? Perhaps... but then, would he want to stay with them? Away from the room, from the Headmaster's office...**_

" _ **I will miss coming to your office to talk to you." He mumbled.**_

 _ **Dumbledore gave a throaty laugh. "I am touched, Harry. However, I believe you should stay with your House. The rules should be followed, you know." He chuckled; amused at the way the young boy rolled his eyes. Clearly, the young boy was at odds with Minerva's near-religious adherence to rules. However, that brought another issue he had nearly forgotten.**_

" _ **There is something I forgot to mention to you, my boy." He smiled as the little boy turned his complete attention back towards him. "In case anyone asks you about your previous life, say that you spent your life with your squib relatives. It will look good on everyone. Can you do that, my boy?"**_

 _ **Squibs. Harry had learnt that word a few days ago. For some reasons, the idea of thinking his uncle as a 'squib' felt like a bad egg in his mouth. His relatives were... bad people and that was it. He did not like talking about them. Ever since the healer uncle, or as he had grown habituated to calling Healer Bernard had begun treating him, he had been slowly regaining his old memories, and as good as it was, most of the memories made him feel more and more bitter. However, at least his past life was no longer in darkness.**_

" _ **All right, sir."**_

"I lived with my squib relatives of my father. I was made to stay away for my safety." Harry repeated the answer he had practiced and rehearsed so many times previously. Many people frowned at the answer.

"I was not familiar with the fact that the Potters had squibs in their family." Draco began.

"Oh come now, Malfoy!" another dark-skinned boy, who had yet to introduce himself to Harry, spoke out. "The Potters were one of the most reclusive families. It is not shocking that you would not know about any squib descendants of the family." The boy turned towards Harry and introduced himself, "I am Blaise. Blaise Zabini." Harry nodded. For good or worse, everyone seemed to agree with Zabini's logic, much to Harry's elation.

Dumbledore stood up. "Let the feast begin."

And lo! The table was suddenly inundated with the most sizzling and appetizing dishes ever, much to Harry's amazement. While it was true that he had been used to Hogwarts' famous food, it was nowhere as grand as this. Picking up two pieces of bacon, he began his dinner.

Soon after, the feast was over and Dumbledore had risen up to make some more notices, some interesting and some... more interesting. When he mentioned the third-floor corridor, Harry could not help but dart his eyes towards the third-floor, a behavior that was not missed by Mcgonagall who was peering at his direction now and then.

"Who is that man beside Flitwick?" he asked an elder student—one Augustin Pince, who looked at the pointed direction and laughed. "Oh that is our Head of House, Professor Snape. He teaches Potions."

"Professor Snape," he muttered. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if this was the same Snape, his mother had written about in her journal, "and that?" he pointed at the man with the turban.

"He's professor Quirrel. He was the muggle-studies teacher, but has come in as the DADA teacher this year."

"DADA?"

Augustin laughed. "My apologies Potter, Defense against the dark arts."

 _Defense...against the dark arts._

"Hmm. He looks odd."

Pince neglected the sour look on the young boy's face. "Yeah, what with his turban and all."

* * *

 **Back to the present...**

Harry walked out of his room to meet the other first years. So far, he had introduced himself to nearly almost everyone in the House, and compared to how the redhead was being, the people seemed good so far. It certainly did not feel like those people would want to kill him in his sleep.

"Good morning, Potter." Malfoy spoke up. "Ready for your first class?"

Harry nodded. Last night, the Slytherin prefect had recited and explained the rules of Slytherin House to the first years. The students were required to maintain an outward show of unity, no matter what confrontations they might have amongst them. All problems inside the Slytherin House must stay within Slytherin house.

"Where to, now?" He asked Malfoy, who smirked.

"First Great Hall for breakfast, and then Transfiguration with the Gryffindors." One of his trademarked sneers accompanied the last word. It was almost graceful, what with the way, he managed to keep his upper-crusted accent while sneering, and yet he had done it as if it was normal speech.

Harry grinned back and walked out with the rest of the group.

* * *

 **Headmaster's office.**

Albus Dumbledore was sitting, all alone inside the confines of his circular office—his thoughts centered on one single eleven-year-old. The boy had spent the last two months at Hogwarts, and had quite familiarized himself with many of the professors. Personally, he was glad to have grown close to the boy, enough for the boy to trust him. However, right now, his attention was on a discussion he had had with his friend Healer Bernard the previous day.

" **Ah, Albus! Please come in." Bernard exclaimed as soon as he found his old friend enter his office. The room was completely white, and not for the first time, Albus wondered why the physicians seemed to have this odd propensity to decorate everything with blinding white color. Keeping his musings to himself, he strode up and occupied a chair opposite Bernard's desk.**

" **I assume you have some inferences about the boy."**

 **Bernard frowned a little. "Yes Albus, I do. Just as promised, I did a research over the issue with my colleagues and global connections, and frankly, what I have come up with is more than mildly disturbing." He noticed the anxiety on the Headmaster's face and continued.**

" **Tell me Albus, have you been doing as prescribed?"**

 **Albus nodded. "With due diligence."**

" **Good, good." Bernard nodded absently. "This case is perhaps one of the rarest of the rare cases in advanced magical psychotherapy." He paused. "I have had to take aid from practitioners all across Europe and Asia to get a complete picture of the situation."**

" **It isn't good, I take it."**

 **Bernard nodded his head like an old elephant being irritated by a fly. "Good or bad, I will let you decide for yourself." He stared up at his friend. "Tell me Albus, do you know what an Obscurus is?"**

" **An Obscurus? I thought they were myths."**

" **Not at all. I expected you of all people to believe in them."**

 **Albus hummed. "My mother used to tell us tales of Obscurus beings, about them being legendary creatures of Merlinean times."**

" **On the contrary Albus, an Obscurus is a true creature, albeit one never seen in the past couple of centuries." Bernard paused, "the lack of knowledge about them is simply because of the unique conditions of their birth."**

 **Albus shook his head, urging him to continue.**

" **An Obscurus is developed under very specific conditions: trauma associated with the use of magic, internalized hatred of one's own magic and a conscious attempt to suppress it."**

 **Albus suddenly turned pale. Bernard however, continued his explanation. "** **When a magical child is forced to repress their talent through physical or psychological abuse, they develop a parasitical magical force inside of them called Obscurus, resulting from their strong emotions of distress. Such a child is known as an Obscurial."**

" **And you think that-" Albus stopped midway as Bernard raised his palm to stop him from interrupting. "Let me explain."**

 **Albus nodded.**

 **Bernard took a piece of parchment from the table and read it out. "This is from my research. It states that an Obscurial may lose control when they reach their emotional and mental breaking point, releasing their Obscurus as a nearly invisible destructive wind. In extreme cases, they may physically transform into an Obscurus."**

" **And what is that?"**

" **A humongous mass of dark energy surrounded and enclosed by wind circulating all around it."**

" **Okay."**

 **Bernard continued. "If by any reason, an Obscurial loses control, the Obscurus thus formed will cause only one thing-devastation. Just like dementors are the personification of negative emotions like guilt, despair and death given shape by magic; an Obscurus is the personification of negative emotions like rage and vengeance."**

 **For a fleeting moment, Dumbledore's mind flashed back at the memory of the flames that burned over the plot of land where Number 4, Privet Drive once stood. The entire plot of land was wiped clean, the surface rock charred due to the heat of the explosion. Could it be possible that Harry had lost control and released the Obscurus?**

' **Now, pay attention to this particular part. Normally an Obscurial is unnaturally sweet,** _ **scared**_ **and harmless. But," he stressed, "Whenever an Obscurial feels threatened by something or someone, a characteristic reaction can be seen." He cast a pointed look at his friend as he uttered the next words... "Their eyes turn white- complete, spotless white."**

" **But Harry's eyes turn-"**

" **Black. My point exactly."**

" **So, he is not an Obscurus or some-"**

 **Bernard shook his head in denial. "No. Harry Potter is an Obscurial all right, or if I may be so bold, one of the most powerful Obscurials to exist in history."**

" **How can you say that?"**

" **Because an Obscurial transforms into an Obscurus permanently by the time he reaches an age of ten. Your boy is still walking, talking, communicating-completely akin to a normal wizard boy. That is only possible if his magical core is powerful and stable enough to counter the pull of the Obscurus."**

" **I...see." He did not.**

" **Then what about his black-"**

" **I am coming to that." Bernard shook his head absently. "The sample of blood that I extracted from the young Mister Potter has been especially helpful in that regard. To be honest, I am surprised why you neglected mentioning this particular fact to me in the first place."**

" **What are you talking about?" Albus questioned, his eyes narrowing in curiosity.**

" **The boy houses the soul shard of another—to be precise, the soul shard of the dark lord Voldemort. I presume you British use a more proper word for it-a horcrux."**

 **Albus sat up straight. "You are extremely knowledgeable about such archaic and abominable magicks."**

" **Hey, hey!" Bernard laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I assure you, I am one of the hounds and not the wolf. Besides, Munich Academy of Sorcery is a lot more tolerant towards dark arts than Britain." He paused. "Besides, soul magic is inherently a part of the study of mind-healing."**

 **Albus relaxed. "I had... some suspicions that the boy might have some kind of connection to Voldemort, but it was mainly guesswork. I did not imagine it would be a horcrux."**

" **Understandable." Bernard nodded. "However, the addition of a horcrux into the body of an already powerful Obscurus complicates matters."**

 **For a fleeting moment, Albus could not help but imagine a form of Voldemort slowly taking over Harry Potter's body, magic and his Obscurus powers. All of them together could only mean one thing-destruction of magical Britain. Harry's face suddenly flashed in front of his eyes.**

 _ **They said I am a monster...**_

" **Albus? Albus?"**

 **Dumbledore shook his thoughts away. "Yes. Sorry. Please continue." Bernard cast a strange look at him as he went back to his paper. "I have had to corroborate my research with the necromancer guild of India, and they have given me the following inference."**

 **He paused to take a deep breath.**

" **The horcrux has somehow fused with the Obscurus."**

" **WHAT?"**

 **Bernard cringed at the uncharacteristic shout from his usually calm and composed friend. "Let me expound on that. A horcrux is a soul shard, which is parasitic in nature, and survives by latching itself to a whole soul-in this case, Harry Potter. An Obscurus, on the other hand, when manifested—latches itself to the magical core of the Obscurial."**

 **Albus nodded.**

" **So consider this, what are the odds that the dark lord would come to kill a child, latching his own horcrux with said child's soul; and the same child would grow up in an abusive environment, manifesting an Obscurus?"**

 **Albus did not reply.**

" **This combination in your wonder-boy has caused this unique thing that no researcher can ever prepare for."**

" **Which is?"**

" **Coincidence." Bernard smiled. "There is no magical explanation of coincidence. Even wooly things like divination never define a coincidence with precise words."**

 **Albus just stared at his friend.**

' **Your boy," Bernard continued, "is an anomaly. A wildcard. The one person who rises despite insurmountable conditions to choose his destiny."**

" **You mean-"**

" **Somehow, the compounded effects of the horcrux and the Obscurus, has created an identity which has in some way, subdivided itself temporarily into two distinct identities."**

" **Temporarily?"**

" **Yes. At this moment, the Obscurus is still the dominant one, giving rise to his harmless, scared personality. The moment the horcrux comes up on equal footing, the personalities will merge to produce one single identity—one which can safely grow up as Harry Potter; though," he paused, "I can hardly anticipate what special powers our young Obscurial may possess."**

 **Dumbledore's mind instantly flashed back to the wild demonstrations of magical power the young boy had demonstrated. What his new personality would become, was the only thing that remained to be seen.**

" **So is that the reason for his black eyes?"**

 **Bernard nodded. "Without any doubt."**

" **And how exactly would we be able to get this final personality?"**

 **Bernard smiled for the first time. "In ancient times, sorcerers used to develop a skill that would enable them to control their primal and subconscious identities and bring them under their voluntary will. They called it shapeshifting, but in modern terms, it is known by a different term."**

" **Hold on, are you talking about," Dumbledore widened his eyes, "being an animagus?"**

 **Bernard grinned. "My point exactly."**

Dumbledore thought about the events of the previous night. Harry Potter had been sorted into Slytherin. It was completely unexpected—he was sure that the boy would go to Ravenclaw. Either he had been wrong in understanding the boy's inherent nature (something he had doubted he was), or something had happened on the train- something that had inherently changed the boy's mindset into something Slytherin.

He would need to check about it. Whatever it was, it was important he knew about what changed Harry Potter from a Ravenclaw into a Slytherin.

* * *

 **### Sorry for the delay in posting the next chapter. I was busy with the other stories for the while. Read, follow, favorite and review...**

 **### Since Fanfiction is too busy to properly maintain and provide regular update notifications, I suppose I will have to do it myself. A new chapter (chapter 3) of CAGE AND KEY has been posted. Please check it out.**


	6. Chapter 6 : Potions and Obscuring

**He was running. Faster and faster. There was just one single thought in his mind.**

 _ **I have to run away. I have to run away.**_

" **Get back here, FREAK!" Dudley yelled- his yell accompanied with furious panting as the boy tried hard to keep up, panting as he and his cahoots ran behind the freak boy—his cousin, so to say. The little freak had become faster and faster with the passage of time, and at the same time, his reflexes were better-a product of the dodging of blows that Dudley and his friends landed on him. It was fun, after all-beating the freak was fun. What was the point in trying to bully others in school when they had a perfectly good scapegoat to bully?**

 **Harry sprinted into the old factory yard a few miles away from Privet Drive. He ushered himself through the grayish building, through the fallen pipes and the broken doors, slipping through the tiniest of places with just one single objective in mind.**

 _ **I have to get away from them.**_

 **He was so lost in his sprint that he never noticed Polkiss escape from a parallel route, and run past him. Polkiss was elder, stronger and faster. He jumped through the broken railing and overtook Harry, the latter being completely ignorant of the happenings. Harry ran straight, occasionally turning back to see Dudley still on his trail, as he rushed with all his might as he turned his face up front and BAM!**

 **His face hit headfirst into the wooden door that Polkiss had hurled open, the wood cracking with the collision, while little Harry Potter was thrown back his back with a thud. Blood trickled down his temple, with his entire face filled with red bruises. The collision had also affected his left hand, something he realized as the pain shot up his spine. Tears filled his eyes.**

 _ **I will not cry.**_

" **What did you think, freak?" Dudley sneered. "Thought you would outrun us, did you?"**

 **Harry looked at him with fierce indignation. "Leave me alone." He coughed. It hurt. Perhaps the fall had hurt his chest. He absently rubbed his left palm over his chest. The shirt had torn off at two places. Aunt Petunia would be enraged. Another week of starvation.**

" **Let me go."**

 **Piers Polkiss laughed. It was a cold heartless laugh. He turned towards Dudley. "Hey Dud, look what the freak is saying. He thinks that we just ran over a few miles to let him go." He snorted off again.**

" **Let me go." Harry stubbornly repeated.**

" **Listen Freak," Joe remarked with a sneer. "We know you were the one who turned Piers' hairs blue. You were the one who did it. And now, you pay for what you did." He smashed his fist into his other palm, advertising his intentions. Dudley smirked back at Harry. "You will get your due, Freak. And then when we get home, I will make sure Dad gives you a good thrashing."**

 **Dad...**

 **Uncle Vernon...**

 **Suddenly a plethora of emotions and memories surged in his mind. Vernon slashing him with that thick, gray, leather belt until he was cringing and lying on the floor, crying silently in pain. Vernon smiling as he threw Harry into the cupboard, and put three locks on the outside, an event that had followed by a week of starvation. Vernon- pummeling Harry in the face with his large fist as a sliver of blood splattered out of his face, only to wipe it off before Petunia entered the room.**

" **Leave me alone... Let me go." He cried out, wishing it with all his heart that they would just leave it alone.**

" **You should have of that before you did your freak thing to me..." Piers raged, before he hit Harry with a kick in the abdomen. Harry doubled in pain as the heavy shoe struck hard. Another swift kick soon followed from behind.**

" **No, stop-"**

 **Dudley kicked him hard on the back. Joe joined soon after. Harry tried to escape but a push threw him face first on the floor.**

" **Don't hurt me, let-"**

 **Another kick. The pain was clouding his senses.**

" **Please-"**

 **Another strike splattered drops of blood out of his mouth. Dudley and Piers smirked at each other as they held the wounded boy up, ready to restart their punishment, when the strangest of things happened.**

 **A sudden gust of wind blew up from behind, pushing the two of them on the floor. Their fingers left the injured boy as they fell down on the rocky, dusty floor.**

" **Damn Freak, I will-" Dudley raged as he turned back.**

 **Only to wish he had not.**

 **Where a moment ago stood a half-battered little boy, dusty and wounded- now there was a large swirling black cloud, with strange lightning crackling through the entire mass. Wind was blowing all around the cloud with no trace of the freak to be seen. The dark mass swirled upward, the lightning rising with it, as the fierce wind swept everything away. Piers got scared and tried to run his way out, but the cloud shot out towards him and swept his feet away, levitating him high up in the air as the elder boy began screaming in agony. The cloud shot him upwards, his head smashed against the thick-mortared ceiling with a great thud, before the cloud suddenly swept away, letting his broken, battered body fall down on the rocky floor beneath. The two boys watched dreadfully as their friend's body gracefully fell on the floor with a soft thud.**

 **Then the screams began.**

* * *

After the first breakfast at Hogwarts Hall, the Slytherin first years joined with the Gryffindor firsties as they all entered the first year Transfiguration classroom. The classroom was spacious and airy, with large open windows with a single large table and chair on one side of the room while the benches and desks stood on the other end, leaving a remarkably large free area in the center. A brown tabby cat sat on the professor's desk, and Harry could swear that none of the other students could guess that it was the stern Professor Mcgonagall, sitting there in her animal form.

Not animal, animagus... Harry reminded himself. The thought of being able to change into an animal form at will was an attractive prospect. However, professor Mcgonagall had advised him not to put a lot of faith in it, since only one out of every eighty people had the potential to be an animagus. It was not about magical power, it was more about their own subconscious. A wizard, who had a subconscious so primal that it could almost mimic an actual animal, could only become an animagus. Harry had promised her that he would not stake a lot on it, but that didn't mean that he wouldn't try it out in the first place.

The first class had been a simple lecture on the uses and effects of Transfiguration. The professor had transfigured a pig out of her table, the pig which later changed into a wooden doll and then into a wild bull. Mcgonagall had thrust her wand out and the bull had disintegrated into a murder of crows. Needless to say, if Harry did not already have an interest for it- after this particular demonstration, he was completely hooked.

The students had then proceeded to transfiguring a matchstick into the needle. As it was, Hogwarts professors did not believe in teaching every single spell given in the books. They taught a particular theory and then selected to teach one single spell out of the many that worked based on that theory. In this instance, they were being taught the basic principles of inanimate transfiguration-changing one non-living substance into another- a wooden matchstick into a steel needle. The books contained many other such spells that enabled one to transfigure other substances—something that the students were expected to learn on their own. Harry was quite excited to be learning all that.

"Recensere ligna ferra."

Everyone was chanting the same incantation. That and sweeping their wand in an elaborate anti-clockwise arc with a forty-five degree thrust downward after that. Harry had been reading one of his favorite texts-he had collected it from the library and had been perusing it in the train. "The nature of incantation." The book dealt with the true nature of incantation, its importance and the manner by which it affected the manifestation of a spell. He had read about incantations being a suitable alternative to true focus-something Harry hoped he would acquire soon enough. After all, he had to become very, very powerful and very, very soon.

He took out his white wand-the Deathwood and phoenix feather. His past attempts had revealed that the wand was very well suited for constructive magicks like transfiguration and charms, much unlike his black wand-the yew with basilisk venom which was well suited for curses. He tried to transfigure it but was unsuccessful.

 _Bugger, this is hard. Let me try another way._

He closed his eyes and tried to remember about what he had previously learnt in his self-study sessions.

 **Focus on your magic. Think of the matchstick as a needle and not a matchstick. Now, release your energy and command it to obey your will.**

Harry did likewise and felt something flow out of his hand. He performed the wand movement. "Recensere ligna ferra."

He opened his eyes with a fair amount of suspicion. To his surprise, a pointed steel needle was lying where once his matchstick stood. His face erupted into a grin, which was instantly spotted by professor Mcgonagall.

"Potter, why are you grin- oh you have done it!" Harry looked up at the stern professor, mentally in awe in the way the professor had shifted from a stern tone to an appreciative one. In his mind, only the old transfiguration professor could do that.

"Ten points to Slytherin, Potter. Try transfiguring it back now. The spell is the same, only ligna and ferra interchanged." The professor explained. Harry nodded and felt for his magic once again. It was swirling, deep inside him, like a river, waiting to be let out. He waved his wand and whispered, "Recensere ferra ligna" focusing on the matchstick as it was.

The needle shifted into the matchstick.

"Take another ten points." Mcgonagall crowed. Notice class. Mister Potter here has done it, and quite spectacularly I may add." The students stared at the boy-who-lived, their stares being a strange mixture of pride (among Slytherins) to awe and anger (among Gryffindors). Even Malfoy looked pretty pleased. A bushy-haired girl was casting a scowl at him while she continuously attempted to transfigure her matchstick into a flawless needle.

* * *

After the class was over, Mcgonagall walked up to him and rested her palm on his shoulder. He looked up at the scary and stern professor. "Professor?"

"How is Slytherin House treating you, Harry?"

Harry shrugged. "All is good so far. I made some..." he hesitated, "friends, I suppose." He avoided looking at Mcgonagall, fearing that she would be angry with him for choosing Slytherin over her own House.

"To be honest, I had thought you would be a Raven." Filius had even bet on it." She chuckled lightly. 'But then again, you have always been an enigma." Harry looked up at her, and found her smirking at no one particular. He swallowed, and spoke his mind. "You aren't angry at me?"

Minerva frowned for a moment. "Why would I be angry at you?" She pressed his shoulder as she stared down at him, her eyes forming a soft expression in them.

"Because I got sorted to Slytherin?"

Minerva's lips quivered. "Harry, I may be the Head of Gryffindor, but above all, I am a professor, and you are my student, irrespective of your house. Though, I would have loved to have you in mine." She smiled. "So would Filius and Pomona."

Harry bobbed his head.

"Now go, you are getting late for your next class. I suppose it is Potions?" she asked, the smile suddenly turning into a frown.

"Yes, Professor."

"Very well, off you go."

* * *

The transfiguration class had went better than expected, he decided. At the end of the class, a very happy Harry Potter left the transfiguration classroom, if the sudden skip in his steps every now and then was any indication.

The entire thing had turned downhill in the next class—Potions. Professor Snape had been the exact opposite of Mcgonagall in almost every way, at least in the ones that counted. While Professor Mcgonagall was known for her love of open spaces, her classrooms spacious and open- Severus Snape preferred the darkest of the dungeons. While Mcgonagall allowed people to debate and question, Severus Snape ruled his class with an iron fist. His word was law—he decided what was right and what was not, anyone having a different notion would get either detention or a healthy amount of point deductions. Mcgonagall allowed students to cross question, but Snape made pin-drop silence mandatory in his class. While the former personally went and aided her students to perform the spell with efficiency, Snape did not lose one single chance to belittle his students at every mistake, not to mention that he never cared to explain anything, and choosing to go by his favorite line... "Instructions are on the board. You have one hour."

Contrary to what Harry had expected, Severus Snape had indeed singled-him out in class, asking him questions which were easily beyond the first-year curriculum. It was true—after all, he had actually taken the time to read his potions book from cover to cover, plus a thorough revision when Malfoy had advised him to do such. Daphne had done her best to avoid his eyes, and to his surprise, the game of mutual indifference came almost as natural to him as it did to her.

Severus Snape had asked him three difficult questions, and as was natural, Harry had not been able to answer neither of them. His later conversation with Malfoy had revealed that the questions were from "Basic fundamentals of Potions" book- a tiny booklet that all purebloods had taught their kids before Hogwarts. As good as that information was, Harry wished Malfoy had told him of the fact sooner, since for the moment, he was stuck with a detention with Snape—something he was not honestly looking forward to. First day at the House and he was already serving detention. Not the best way to make associations in the House.

That very night, he had reported to Snape's office for detention.

* * *

Harry knocked on the door, and heard the loud 'come in', as he entered the dark dreary room. It was oddly reminiscent of the cave, if not for the different chairs, tables and magical instruments at one end of the room. The potions professor seemed to have a makeshift potions lab inside his own office. Talk about work obsession.

"Enter, and start cleaning the cauldrons on the left side." The clear voice of the potions master entered his ears. He walked up towards the left end of the semi-dark and dreary looking potions office, where the potion cauldrons lay used and dirty. Using a pumice stone and fluxweed bark, he began scrubbing the insides of the cauldrons, ignoring the eagle-like stare that the professor was giving him. His memories of his slavery at the Dursleys had returned to him, and the work was no different from what the Dursleys made him to do. If anything, this was much lesser than what his younger self had been used to doing. He held the flat stone as he efficiently scrubbed and cleaned them.

Severus Snape watched the boy with an impending sense of dissatisfaction and irritation. Where was the arrogant Potter who would stand up in defiance, quoting that the work was beneath him? Where was the boy who would start cursing from the first moment, unable to perform the menial work meant for house elves? The damned brat was working, almost _diligently_ , it seemed- something that grated on his nerves. How dare the brat behave like that?

"You are just like your father, Potter- just as arrogant, just as deceitful-"

Harry ignored him, focusing back on the work. The menial work felt good- t did not leave anything else to be on his mind, giving him a modicum of peace and serenity.

"Potter!"

Okay, perhaps he had expected too much.

"Yes, Professor?"

"Your arrogance knows no bounds-"

Harry narrowed his eyebrows. What exactly was wrong with this man? It seemed like he was doing his level best to antagonize him.

"I do not know what you felt bad about, professor. But I am sorry if I did anything wrong by mistake." Harry answered, returning to his task. Eight cauldrons were done, leaving only two. He was just about to get hold of the ninth when-

"Your stupid mother then had the audacity to-"

Harry rose his head. It had gone overboard now.

"Professor, please stop-"

But Severus Snape was way beyond infuriated to listen to reason. First, he had been forcefully made to _accept_ a vacation away from the castle, only because Dumbledore could introduce the brat-that-lived to Hogwarts and puff him up. As if the brat needed any more arrogance, his father already had it more than enough for a person. Then the brat had the audacity to be sorted into Slytherin, and now he was intentionally grating on Severus' nerves.

It was an outrage.

He had slowly built up a rant, and now that he had actually unleashed the venom of his wrath, it was almost unstoppable. His face seemed red, flushed and enraged as hundreds of pent-up emotions found release over the little boy on the floor, staring at him with those eyes filled up with something like hatred.

Wait... _Hatred?_

The boy's eyes glowed with a certain eldritch energy, something that sent a cold shudder down his spine. Such level of hatred in a young child was impossible. He wondered why it was. He had not realized but he had stopped his rant.

"Sir?"

The sudden addressing caught him off-guard. "Yes?"

"I am done with it all."

"Excuse me?"

"I am done with the cauldrons, sir. What should I do next?" he showed his dirty fingers- the etches formed on his little palm distinct from the rubbing of the pumice since the previous thirty minutes.

"You may go." Severus replied, a bit lower than what he would have liked. Potter bowed low, and silently withdrew himself from the potions classroom. He watched the boy leave through the door in silence, wondering what had made the little brat so silent.

Severus turned his back to the door, looking towards the newly cleaned cauldrons. He would have to hand it to the boy; he had cleaned them exceptionally well. There was not a shred of dirt on them, it was almost like the cauldrons had been cleaned by a-

House elf.

Severus scrunched his temples in deep thought. Why couldn't the boy be more like the arrogant bastard that James Potter was? Why couldn't he just go to Gryffindor and let Severus hate him in peace? Why did he have to be a Slytherin? Why in Merlin's name was he so silent?

 _Silent._

Severus froze as he suddenly felt the change in his familiar room. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to notice the origin of that shred of fear in him- a fear of something he did not know. Something whose aura had affected the room all around him. Something that was-

 _Something that was in the room with him_.

With a slight twist of his wrist, his faithful wand graced his fingers as he swerved back, thrusting the wand directly at the intruder who he had sensed right behind him. A shocked Severus Snape stared blankly as he witnessed what was probably the most eerie and hair-raising event in his life.

A great, big dark shadowy mass levitating before him while a strange wind seemed to circulate around the mass. He ignored the sudden chill of fear down his spine as he yelled a powerful banisher towards the mass.

Only to have the spell pass through the mass, almost as if it was not even there.

Severus raised his eyebrows. He had just begun another incantation when a huge upsurge of wind manifested around the dark mass, hurling Severus upwards with it, hitting him head-on with the roof. It was only a timely application of the cushioning charm that saved his head. The wind swept him back randomly and threw his wand out of his hand, much to his despair. He tried to get out of the wind but it seemed to grow stronger and stronger, and then the strangest of things happened.

Lightning flashed all around the black mass. Lightning that flashed through the wind around him, electrocuting him with a huge amount of energy. Severus gave a heart-wrenching scream as he felt his insides turn to jelly by the pain of it. He was banged against the opposite wall with a great thud before the wind suddenly left him off to free fall down. A half-burnt Severus Snape flattened on the floor, completely incapacitated and half-dead by the likes of it.

"Stop- Stop-" Severus pleaded, "let me go." He cried in agony.

No one answered his prayers. The dark cloud drifted away from him and dissipated, blowing hard as it escaped through the walls as if they were nothing. Severus whimpered in pain before it rendered him unconscious.

* * *

"Very interesting. Very, _very_ interesting. Don't you think, Quirrel?"

Quirinus Quirrel stepped out of the shadow of the pillar right next to the potion master's office. He had been trying to get a vial of a revitalizing elixir from the potion master's stores, but did not have the chance to do so. The elixir was a questionable substance, and it would draw unnecessary attention—something he did not wish upon himself. He had waited until young Harry Potter walked out of the office, hoping that now he could perhaps try something, when the strangest of things happened.

The boy had barely made it a yard before he stopped suddenly, as his features shifted-his body began to vibrate and get blurry around the edges. It was like seeing someone through a wet glass. And then it happened.

The boy's body dissolved into a dark mass of smoke, but the dark lord knew better. The energies radiating out of the floating dark mass were beyond normal—it was dangerously and deadly. The air around the place suddenly went all quiet, almost as if all motion had temporarily ceded, when a gust of wind gathered around the dark swirling mass, which swirled monstrously, as blue lightning trickled through the mass. Even from the distance, the power being liberated from the... thing was amazing.

There was only thing in the world that could match with what he was seeing in front of him.

A magic-damned Obscurus.

The dark lord had the misfortune to meet an Obscurial during his travels decades ago, in Sudan. A young girl—traumatized and beaten to submission by her own parents, scared and disappointed by the fact that she had magic- shameful and filled with self-loathing, had manifested an Obscurus- a dark, magical parasitic force. The negative emotions had altered her magic into this... beast, a beast that had rampaged the city of Dongola. One such experience was enough, and the budding dark lord had promised himself never to search for another again.

However, that was then and now-things had changed. Harry freaking Potter was an Obscurus, but that meant- that meant that the boy had a crappy childhood. The dark lord spent a moment in nostalgia as he was bombarded with memories of his own. How strange that both he and his nemesis had similar upbringings. The boy-who-lived had grown up in an abusive environment. How... interesting.

Previously, he had planned to create some kind of diversion inside Hogwarts and try to kill Harry Potter, and after that—he would go after the Philosopher's stone hidden in Hogwarts. Knowing very well that the Headmaster could have just hid the stone under the Fidelius instead of creating an entire gauntlet- it smelled like a well-placed trap from a mile away. But he was desperate; after all, while cursed unicorn blood gave him a half-life, the stone was necessary for him to get a body of his own. His resurrection. He would have to lay the old man's game. After all, beggars couldn't be choosers.

Now though, things had changed. Harry Potter had supposedly grown in an abusive environment. An Obscurus was an expression of one primal emotion-unrestrained, uncontrolled rage. A child of eleven demonstrating it, it spoke volumes about the eleven-year-old. If not for the Prophecy...

The prophecy...

"I was a fool to neglect the wordings of the prophecy. I did not have the complete knowledge of it, and in my arrogance, I led myself to my defeat. It will not happen again." He mused. "If Harry Potter has so much of darkness in him, there is no need for us to be on opposite sides of the battle lines. The unfettered power in the boy could become better, if not great if he was under my control."

"The game has changed, Quirrel." He spoke to his servant at last. "The rules have changed. Harry Potter is no longer the object to be defeated. We will need to change our plans."

"As you wish, my Master."

* * *

 **### I am back. I know its quite some days since I updated, but there was a big change in my work schedule and plus with the lack of rest and everything, I wasn't in top form to create a new chapter. However, I guess I will slowly restart updating... Thanks. As always, read, follow, favorite and review... And like I have mentioned many times, Arcturus Peverell doesn't abandon his stories.**


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